


Far from Home

by petyrbaaaeeelish



Series: Far from Home [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Blood, Detective Story, F/M, Gothic, Happy halloween, Horror, Implied Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Murder, Mystery, Romance, Sherlock Holmes Inspired, Vampires, supsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-07-27 09:36:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16216340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petyrbaaaeeelish/pseuds/petyrbaaaeeelish
Summary: The Stark family employe Dectective Varys to investigate their daughter’s disappearance. Varys has only one lead, the last entries in Sansa Starks diary that mentions the name Lord Baelish. Who is this mysterious character, and what does he have anything to do with this sweet, young girl who has a mind of her own?





	1. Family Secrets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quoyan_XI](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quoyan_XI/gifts).



**Prologue**

“Stop!” I yelled at the top of my lungs and flagged down a carriage that was fast approaching me. The driver spotted me at the side of the road and suddenly tugged the reins of his horse’s bridle, rearing the horse’s head backwards as it came to a full stop. I pulled my smoky grey cap over my head, and jogged towards the carriage, carefully evading the puddles that never ceased to go away in this rainy London town. “78A Winterfell Avenue,” I called out to him, before I ducked undercover of his large carriage and shut the door behind me.

The rain had drenched my coat, and I found my umbrella completely useless in the torrential winds. I shed the coat off my shoulders slightly and threw my cap off my head and tossed it down on the seat beside me. The carriage started up again, knocking about on the shifty cobbled streets that sent me flying from one side of the carriage to another. I steadied myself before I pulled back the drapes to see the streets crowded with people, an everyday occurrence just after luncheon. A shrill of a whistle blew down the street, and I spotted a petty looking peasant sprinting down the street, probably avoiding a police officer that would undoubtedly throw him in prison for the next few months. _Maybe that will teach them a lesson,_ I thought, and pulled down my high collar to let some air come down my dress shirt. _I need to lose weight,_ I reminded myself, but food seemed to be claiming me more times than I could count when I was unable to solve a case.

 _I’ll solve this one,_ I resolved, knowing my reputation was a stake if I did not complete the assignment.

A girl had gone missing. Three nights ago, she disappeared from her living quarters, and it has been most awkward for Lord Eddard Stark to keep it covered up. _People do talk,_ I mused, _and it is only a matter of times before I spot it in the newspapers._

 _And my name will go alongside it,_ I noted, _just another reason I need to solve this case._

I pulled back the drapes again to see we had finally reached the illustrious part of London. The high steel black gates, and two- or three-story houses told me we were fast approaching Winterfell avenue. _Who would want to kidnap the girl,_ I wondered, _what would be their motive? Love? Money? Revenge?_ There were so many factors, a multitude a variables that could lead me to a number of hypothesis’, but only one would lead me to the truth. “I will find it,” I mouthed aloud, and snatched my newsboy cap to throw it atop of my head. “Cost what it may.”

The carriage slowed down and rolled up a long stretch of road that led to a large portion of land that belonged to the Starks. The Starks were well known in the political world, it was Lord Eddard (Ned) Stark that acted as a Vice Prime Minister for Robert Baratheon some five years ago. His son, Rob, was a talented rugby player who represented his Queen and country in international games. It was known that his children received the highest level of education in the hopes of joining the political realm as well, and already it was rumoured that his daughter, Sansa, was to be soon engaged to his closest friend’s son, Joffrey, within the year. This was all general knowledge, the things you find in the gossip section of the weekly newspaper, but the real details about the Stark family would begin now.

I dropped down from the carriage and found my sturdy leather boots falling into a deep pool of mud. “Oh god,” I cursed under my breath, and did my best to find a dry patch near the stony path to get around the carriage and pay the driver. He took the coinage silently, stuffing it in his pocket before he reached for his bridle again. _Careless with his money,_ I thought, _or simply has enough to stuff it so loosely inside his coat pocket. Not fearful of getting a cold either,_ I contemplated, _as I noticed how bare his hands were in the middle of February._

 _He must be used to it,_ I considered, _while I walked up to the great stony house. He’s a man of London, whereas, I am a foreigner who finds this incessant cold and rain almost unbearable._ I reached inside of my inner pocket of my cloak and dug out a pipe to place it firmly between my lips. The drops of rain will soon blow the flames out, but I needed a fix before I went inside to meet the anxious parents.

_Three days…_

There was a gardener who walked past the front of the house, he was draped in a loose uniform in a dirty brown that hid the stains and mud marks well. He wore long black boots that let him walk across the damp grass easily; he took one look at me as he carried a wheelbarrow in front of him, and it was enough to satisfy his curiosity. _They must get visitors often,_ I deliberated, _or at least a number of visitors since Sansa Stark’s mysterious disappearance._

A gilded door handle was placed dead center on the black polished door of the front house, the rust told me it was old and had been well used for years. This was an old house, and I have found old houses often kept many secrets. _I wonder what this one would hold,_ I wondered, before I lifted the door handle and struck it hard against the door three times. There was silence inside the house, enough time for me to snuff out my pipe and make myself presentable for the Lord and Lady of the house.

“Good afternoon,” a maternally woman said to me as she opened the door and let me escape from the insufferable rain. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” I said in a loud, confident voice. “I am Detective Varys. I believe Lord Stark has requested my presence.”

“Yes, he is waiting for you in the tea room.”

“The tea room?” I said with surprise, not expecting the man to speak of so delicate a subject in a tea room, but who was I to judge. The maid took my wet belongs without remonstration, and once it was neatly put away she led me into the inner rooms where I would meet her master. I noticed how brightly lit everything was, the red tapestry along the ceiling, the sunburnt orange walls that brought me back to more exotic days. There was a sweet fragrance of freshly baked bread, and coffee being brewed somewhere in the inner rooms. The clock ticked loudly as I walked down the main hallway, noticing how silent the house was aside of the noise. The doors were shut, all of them, as I passed the narrow hallway where this hobbling maid was taking me.

 _Everything feels old,_ I noted, as the floor creaked under my feet like withered bones cracking from an elderly person. The woman in front of me smelt like old moth balls, as if she never left these dry, dusty rooms. Her hair was fine silver, curled over with long streaks of black; the long hook nose told me she was of Scottish descent, her accent was so well attuned to this area I could only conclude she lived her all her life. She laid her hand on the doorknob, and I noticed the waxed grey ring around her wedding finger, it was so lifeless in the light I could only suppose her husband was as well. She tilted her wrist to the right and propped the door open with a knock accompanying it, a thing her master was accustomed too for he did not accost her when he met us at the door.

“Detective Varys,” he barked out, and stretched out his long arm to shake his hand with mine. His grip was strong, too strong for my liking. His towering form reminded me of the Norwegians, but his dark complexion and free flowing hair would almost make me think he was a gypsy. His northern accent quickly betrayed my former thought, he was thoroughly an Anglo-Saxon, or at least close to it.

 _He examines me as well,_ I noted, as I took a seat opposite him. He did not like the way I declined his offer of tea, but that commonplace chivalry had no place for me. I wanted the facts, and I wanted them now.

“Should we start from the beginning.”

“And when is that?” he sneered, rubbing his finger along his thick moustache that reminded me of the rug underneath my feet.

“The night your daughter disappeared.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” he grumbled under his breath. “To leave in the middle of the night.”

“So, it was by her own free will.”

“It’s not like the house was broken into.”

“You have servants, my Lord. Couldn’t one of them have taken her?”

“And come back to work the next day.”

“It would be a masterful cover up.”

“It would be foolish,” he shot back. “No one in their right mind would do that.”

“Who says, they have to be right?”

He grunted after my statement and lifted up a tea cup that was too small for his hands to have a sip. It looked like he was putting on a front, it would look more natural for him to have a drink at a tavern than a dainty cup of tea. “I have three men servants here,” he voiced aloud. “A gardener, butler and cook. The rest of my household servants are woman.” He set the cup down and moved the tray away from him as he added, “A male tutor too, but he only comes to see my son Bran and Rickon.”

“I have heard your daughter is beautiful.”

“Very.”

“And you don’t think any of your servants would take an interest in her.”

“If they did they would be marching down to Scotland Yard to be hung the next day,” he flatly replied. “Besides, they are much to old for her.”

“How much older?”

“Twenty years or more.”

“That is a normal age gap for marriage,” I reminded him. “These sorts of things happen everyday in London.”

“She’s engaged to Joffrey,” he stiffly said. “He is the same age as her.”

“Does she want to marry Joffrey.”

“She has no choice.”

“Come, come, Lord Stark, this is the nineteenth century! The age of industry, we have a Queen to rule England, and parliament that has become even more liberal than usual. Surely, the girl has some choice in marriage.”

“I am her father, and I know what is best for her.”

“And did you tell her that the night she disappeared?” I asked, wanting to prove a point.

“No, I didn’t see her at all that night. We were at a ball, and I was busy talking to the rest of the guests.”

“So, you never saw your daughter.”

“Once or twice, and she was surrounded by her friends.”

“I see.” I stroked my hand across my bald head, deep in thought as my mind ran to different avenues. “When was the last time you saw her.”

“Downstairs, in my office. I wished her a goodnight as she passed by my room.”

“To go to bed?”

“Yes, to bed,” he gruffly replied, as though I had asked him a stupid question. “She is nineteen, after all.”

“Nineteen,” I repeated, while my eyes stared down at the spotted brown carpet. _A lot can go on in the mind of a nineteen-year-old,_ I deliberated, _especially after a party._ “Is your wife home? Perhaps, she spoke to your daughter last?”

“Yes, but she is currently indisposed. She is ill.”

“Sick?”

“My wife is not taking this well,” he answered me while he rubbed the flat part of his palms together. “I ordered the doctor to give her something to sleep. She suffers from insomnia, and our daughter’s disappearance has made it worse.”

“Another time, then.” I raised myself off the couch, finding it to comfy for my liking. _If I stay here any longer I might fall asleep on it._ “I’d like to speak to your children, if I may?”

“Arya is home,” he replied. “Rickon is out with some friends at the moment, and Bran is busying studying for his exams.”

“I will speak to Arya then,” I told him. “She is the youngest daughter, I believe.”

“Yes,” he sighed, and raised himself from his seat with obvious discomfort. _He looks in pain,_ I realized, it looks as though his back was tremendously stiff. _Been sleeping on the sofa,_ I wondered, and darted my eyes to the red couch next to me to find it had hardly been used. _A mystery for another time,_ I told myself, before I followed this tall man out of the room.

“Lord Stark,” I drawled as I walked alongside him. “When did you first notice your daughter’s disappearance.”

“One of the maid’s told me. Sara, she is my daughter’s handmaid. She noticed it in the morning when she went upstairs to help Sansa take a bath and get dressed for the day.”

“And she told you right away?”

“Yes, and then we went looking for her.”

“How old is Sara?”

“Twenty-two, I believe. It was her birthday last week.”

“They are very close in age, are they not?” I asked him, once he stopped in front of the staircase. “Would you say they were close?”

“With a servant? No.” He laid his hand down on the wooden handrail and leaned his large body against it when he asked, “You’ve never had a servant, have you, Detective Varys?”

“I have not.”

“No, I thought not,” he sneered with obvious pleasure. “My children know not to become too familiar with our servants. The moment they do, I find someone to replace them. That’s the thing with servants… they’re _replaceable._ ”

“But your children are not.”

“No,” he droned out sadly. “And that is why we must find Sansa.”

I bit down on my lip regrettably as I followed him up the wooden staircase and was thankful it was not a long journey before we reached the second floor. The hallway was dark over here, devoid of all sources of light since there was no window in sight. _You can walk past here unseen,_ I noted, and felt the cover of night was alluring for me as well as Sansa on that fateful night. There was less creaking of the floor over here, and the carpet allowed my boots to travel across the surface unnoticed if I wished too. There were two doors to the right of me, and four more on the left of the staircase. Lord Stark let go of the handrail as he made his way to the right and opened the door that was a few steps away from the staircase. “Arya there is a man here to see you,” he called out, and let me pass him by before I walked into the sky-blue lit room with dead butterflies stapled to the wall for closer examination. A girl turned around to look at me, her dark chestnut brown hair nearly covered her face as she studied me. I gave her a low bow of respect, feeling the brooding presence of her father behind me, in case his daughter felt uncomfortable with my presence.

“Detective Varys,” I introduced myself. “Pleasure to meet you, Lady Stark.”

“I’m not a Lady yet,” she rebutted, and got off the floor with her open book and magnifying glass at her feet. “Are you here for my sister?”

“I am.”

“Joffrey took her!”

“Arya,” her father scolded. “Enough!”

She scrunched her face up with displeasure, making her look uglier than normal. Arya was short and scrawny, and her lack of feminine features made her almost look like a boy. _She even dresses like one,_ I noticed, taking in the men’s dress shirt she loosely wore around her tiny frame and slacks that were too big for her. _It must be her brother’s clothes,_ I concluded, taking in the illustrious details around the collar of the dress shirt that proved to me how valuable it once was.

Lord Stark brushed himself beside me and motioned for his daughter to sit down at the foot of her bed. He pulled out a chair for me that was pushed in front of a single desk and instructed me to be seated as well. “Ask her questions, and then let her be,” he remonstrated, while crossing his arms at his dejected looking daughter.

“When was the last time you saw her?” I asked quietly, as though we were engaged in a very intimate conversation.

“At the party, and then the ride home.” Arya bit on her finger nervously, as she tried not to have any sort of eye contact with me. “She was happy when we were heading there, but afterwards…”

“She wasn’t.”

“She was sad.”

“Why was she sad?”

“She didn’t say,” she told me honestly. “But she was quiet.”

“She isn’t normally quiet?”

“Not after a party.”

“Ah,” I said with pain. “So, something must have happened at the party.”

“She was with her friends that night, so I wouldn’t have known.”

“What were you doing?”

“I was…” she cracked her knuckles and peaked at her father like she wished he wasn’t there. “I was outside watching a fight.”

“Arya!”

“They were boxing, father!”

“Arya Stark, you know better than that,” he scolded. “Do I have to keep someone on you again?”

“No.”

“Were you out there alone?”

“I was with this man I met at the party.”

“A man?”

“It wasn’t like that, father,” she pleaded in a child-like voice. “He liked horse races and wanted to show me his horse.”

“And you just followed him blindly.”

“He seemed safe enough.”

“Heavens, what is wrong with my daughters?” he grumbled, after he covered his face with annoyance. “What was his name?”

“No one.”

“I mean it, Arya,” he warned, with a voice so stern it would have made even me confess my darkest secrets.

“That’s what he told me! I thought it was a joke, so I went with it.”

He grunted low under his breath while he crossed his arms harder. “I’m telling your mother, and you are basically on house arrest for a week… maybe even longer.”

“But!”

“No, but’s,” he sighed, and leaned against the wall to show this conversation was now over.

I clapped my hands loudly together, before I blurted out, “Where were we?” to get the child’s attention.

“We were talking about how sad Sansa was,” Arya mumbled.

“Yes! On that note, did she have any secret admirers? A suiter of some sort.”

“I thought it was the other way around,” she laughed. “She was dancing with men the whole night.”

“Joffrey was under the weather,” her father explained. “I wish he was there to control her.”

Arya bit down on her lip, trying to hold back her tongue before she turned her steely gaze to me. “There might have been someone she liked, but she would never tell me.”

“Why?”

“She doesn’t like me,” she said matter of factly. “Her friends might know… Marg, Loras-”

“The Tyrell’s,” her father explained. “Close family friends.”

“And you noticed nothing suspicious about that night?” I asked them both. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“It was a party, just like any other,” Arya answered me. “A bore.”

“It was fine,” her father argued. “I am glad Olenna invited us.”

I flipped open a notebook, and licked the nib to get the ink running before I rapped out, “Olenna?”

“Tyrell,” he answered me. “She hosted the small get together.”

“And do you have the address?”

“She rented the rooms,” he sighed. “I can give you the information when we go back downstairs.”

“Thank you.” I turned my gaze to the small girl in front of me. “Anything else you want to tell me about the party.”

“I was hardly there.”

“Okay?”

“She was quiet on the way home and wouldn’t talk to me. She kept complaining she had a headache and wanted to go home.”

“And after that?”

“She had a cup of warm milk and went straight to bed. She didn’t even want the maid to undress her.”

“So, she might have never put on her night clothes,” I suggested, which earned a terrified look from her father.

“She could have gone out?”

“It’s a possibility.”

Lord Stark raised himself to his feet with a dangerous grimace. “I need a word with my butler,” he growled, before he pulled open the door and charged out the room.

There was a tension in the room when her father finally left her, a scared little girl looked at me now with round sable eyes. “I won’t hurt you,” I assured her. “There is nothing to be afraid of.”

“There was one thing,” she whispered, as she curled her feet into the center of her chest.

“Yes.”

“She kept running her fingers across her lips.”

“How?”

She raised a single finger and rubbed it across her bottom lip slowly, before she brought it inward and bit down on the whole of it. “Like that, but over and over again.”

“Nerves.”

“I don’t know.” She let her fingers go around the ends of her ankles to pull her legs into her more. “But I thought it was unusual.”

“And… the last time you saw her?”

“Downstairs. I was talking to my mother when I saw her leaving us with her usual coffee mug in hand.”

“A routine?”

“Yeah, you can say that.”

“And did you hear anything at night?”

“I was tired,” she quickly said, and I noticed how her eyes darted to the window beside me. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“But you saw something?”

“No,” she woodenly replied, and then dropped her feet to the floor so she can stand on her own two feet again. “Forgive me, but I am tired.”

“I have been here long enough. Thank you, Arya,” I muttered, and raised my hand for her to shake. Her hand was small in mine, but strong just like her father. “Enjoy your butterfly collection,” I cheerfully said, and then left her without another look in her direction.

 _The drapes were closed around her window,_ I noted, after I shut the door behind me. _I must have a look at it when I get a chance._

* * *

Lord Stark had some files prepared for me by the time I walked into his study room. “Take it,” he instructed, as he handed me a file of papers tucked neatly into a beige folder. “All of the names I could remember that were at the party in case you want to interview them. The one with the stars next to the names are the ones you can interview first, the others… I prefer them not to know that my daughter was missing.”

“I understand.”

“There is the address of the party, and everything. The time we arrived and left, mind you it was with the same carriage. I don’t know if we were being followed. I’ll have to ask Tage next time I see him.”

“Do you think you were being followed?”

“I’m entertaining every possibility.” He rose from his seat and pulled out a cigarette that he left inside of a case on top of his desk. “You and I both know how valuable my name is in London society. If they kidnapped her for money I should have heard from them by now.”

“Its possible that she left this house willingly.”

“I know,” he grumbled, and pulled a match out from one of his pockets to light the end of the cigarette. “I’m pretending its not a possibility.”

“Ignorance isn’t necessarily a good thing, my Lord.”

“Christ,” he cursed. “Why would she go out alone?”

“To go somewhere? Meet someone? A boy, perhaps.”

“The scoundrel. He probably took her virginity and then…” A trail of smoke escaped his lips as he dropped his head down to the chest. “Help me find that man, Detective Varys.”

“I will.” I lifted the folder off the table and tucked it underneath my arm. “I promise.”

“Before you go, I wrote down the names of all my staff members. I want you to talk to my boy, Bran, before you go. His music lessons should almost be done by now.”

Lord Stark tied his house coat tighter around his waist and motioned me to follow out his room to lead me down an unknown corridor. He blended in nicely with his elegant surroundings; the posh ruby coloured house coat went well with the tan coloured walls and golden lampstands curled out of the wall in the shape of leaves. The carpet floor was red with spirals of yellow and gold, that made my eyes get lost in the intricate patterning. There was a sound of music in the air, low and eerie as a violin echoed down the hall. Lord Stark enjoyed his smoke, hardly bothered that it was men beneath his station who usually smoked that kind of cigarette. _He’s not as pompous as he pretends,_ I deliberated, and unbuttoned my front cloak finding this part of the house uncommonly hot.

“Bran!” his father yelled the second he burst opened the two set of doors. “Come here, I want you to speak to someone.”

The young man lowered his violin and looked away from his instructor to stare at me. I gave him the customary bow, and he did the same with his violin lowered gracefully at his side. He was tall and thin, with a physiognomy that was nothing like his father. “Good afternoon,” he greeted me in a polite, almost calming voice.

“Good afternoon. I’m Detective Varys from Scotland Yard. I’ve come to investigate your sister’s disappearance.”

Bran looked at his instructor, and that was enough for him to bow and leave the room silently. He was a few years older than Bran, I noticed, could he be a potential suitor?

“Why have you come three days later?”

“Because your father sent for us today,” I told him. “He believed your sister would suddenly show up.”

“I wanted to keep it quiet,” Lord Stark said through gritted teeth.

“She won’t come back. She never liked it here,” Bran relayed. “She wanted to be with her friends, travel the world…” He stopped to put his violin delicately back in his casing. “She wasn’t happy.”

Lord Stark took a few steps into the center of the room with his hands over his hips as he bellowed, “And you seem so sure of it?”

“I’m not,” he said with disinterest. “But I notice things.”

“What did you notice on the night she disappeared?” I asked, as I pulled my scrunched-up notebook out of my coat pocket. I waved away the cloud of smoke coming from Lord Stark’s cigarette, before I flipped open the page to the right date.

“She was dressed very beautifully,” her brother answered me. “She braided her hair and put it up, it must have taken her maid hours to do it that way. She wore a bright red dress, almost crimson, like the colour of blood. That was never Sansa, she always wore soft delicate colours. She never wanted more attention than needed, our name is enough.”

Bran looked down to do the straps to his leather casing. His fingers were thin and slender, agile enough to conduct so fine an instrument. His face was pale when he looked up at me, eyes uncommonly dark like his sister Arya. “She was happy… excited for the party. She wanted everything to be perfect.” He paused and looked down at his casing, as if he was trying to recollect some thoughts. “I was performing that night with the band, so I saw her very little that night. She danced a lot, with a lot of men I didn’t know.”

“Did they look like trouble?” Lord Stark asked anxiously.

“They were gentlemen,” he assured his father. “Of the highest order.”

“Foreigners?”

“They were Englishmen.”

“You never know these days,” he grumbled. “When a woman is in high command everything falls apart.”

I tried my best not to roll my eyes, a thing severely hard when his son did it so openly. “Did Sansa go outside at all?” I inquired. “Some ladies like to go out for some fresh air.”

“No, she was always near the dance floor.”

“Did she drink?”

“Sansa, doesn’t drink.”

“Smoke?”

“She doesn’t smoke.”

“Anyone paying her particular attention.”

“Not that I noticed.”

“Was she happy?” I asked, as my pen hovered over the page ever so slightly.

“She giggled a lot. I suppose she was happy in her own way.”

“Arya claimed she looked sad when she was coming home.”

“She had too much fun?” Bran offered. “Sansa likes to keep her feelings to herself.”

“Like you?” I asked without thinking it through.

“Like me,” he answered in a calming voice. “I may appear emotionless but believe me I want Sansa home just like everybody else.”

“Then you need to answer a few more questions. When was the last time you saw her?”

“The party. I took a separate carriage home, since I was playing there late at night for Lady Tyrell.”

“Were you paid?”

“No, I do it for pleasure.”

“Your pleasure, or _hers._ ”

“I don’t get see how this has anything to do with my sister.”

My pen froze over my paper, as I darted one eye in his direction for a moment. “Did you say goodbye to your sister before you left?”

“No.”

“Do you regret it?”

Bran pursed his lips funnily, cleared annoyed by my persistent questions. “Yes, I regret it. Now, can you please find out where my sister went?”

“One last thing! Do you have any idea what happened to her that night?”

“No.”

“Cause I think you would have been the last one to arrive home. Am I right?”

“I came home after midnight.”

“Yes, the last one that walked through the door.”

“I didn’t see or hear anything.”

“You slept well?’

“Like a baby.”

“Have you watched a baby sleep,” I laughed. “They take forever to get there. You know what I think… I think you noticed something last night that you’re not telling me.”

“I felt...” he paused and shot a shy glance at his father. “I felt like someone was watching me.”

“Watching you?”

“From behind?”

“Where?”

“When I was unlocking the front door. It was so dark it took a while to recover my keys, and there was no lamp lit outside.”

“Common.”

“I’m not sure,” he deliberated aloud. “I don’t often stay out that late.”

“First time?”

Bran bit down on his lower lip and shot another nervous glance at his stern looking father. “I may have snuck out to perform.”

“For money.”

“Yes,” he droned, and held his violin protectively. “I know I don’t need it, but it feels gratifying.”

“And your father disapproves?”

Lord Stark took a step forward with his arm out to pinch the top part of his son’s shoulder. “He does,” he gruffly said, before he led him out the room.

 _Well, this has been an interesting day,_ I thought, and showed myself out to walk along the front part of the garden. There was nothing extraordinary here; a large oak tree with branches that was just inches away from the children’s window. Thick bushes that were easy to hide in, but so prickly to the touch it would be less than ideal. I was hoping for some footprints but the rain over the past few days could have easily washed it out. I pulled out my magnifying glass and investigated the frames of the lower windows but found there had been no tampering or scrapping of wood. The shed near the house was full of gardening equipment, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary inside. There was evidence of dog leashes, a thing I found odd since there was no dogs inside of the house. I took a long look at what I supposed was Arya’s window, and found nothing around it that could strike the sort of terror that she momentarily revealed.

But there was something, I knew, but it was just another mystery to me. Thankfully, the rain had stopped, so it allowed me to walk along the stony path and then the gate to see if someone had intentionally broken a lock. _That can only mean she let herself out,_ I realized, or the kidnapper was inside the grounds long before they came. It was difficult to work out, and even more so when I found there was no use of force to break into any part of the house.

It is odd that Bran claimed his sister was unhappy here. The house was beautiful from my point of view, seeing the soft evening light falling upon the brick walls reminded me of some kind of painting. Some would say this place is like a palace, but for Sansa it must have been a prison. _Who would entice her to leave though,_ I wondered, _who would be so financially secure that she wouldn’t be afraid to leave it? Or was it for love?_

“Love,” I grumbled out with bitterness, and tried to forget the thoughts that were steadily creeping across my mind.

The temperature was dropping, and I felt it as my fingers grew numb and hard under the frigid temperatures. I decided to head back indoors and make a few more inquiries, before I left for the night. _I should examine her room,_ I deliberated, and made it a request the second I walked through the front door. The maid agreed to my demands and asked me to wipe off my soiled boots before she led me up the staircase. It was amazing how dark the house had become, so haunted with a deathly silence that never ceased to go away. The distant murmurs of a violin could be heard in the lower quarters of the house, and I felt it added to the mysterious atmosphere. The maid unlocked the door with a key and allowed me to go inside, closing it behind me with a low thud.

I held my breath, realizing how dark Sansa’s room really was at this time of day. I pulled out my match and struck it in the air in front of me, illuminating the room partially, before I could stumble around in search of a candle. Her room smelt stale, the windows were shut, and I felt the dryness of the room as I wandered about. A meager looking candle was found, and I sparked the end of my match to the wick until they both glowed before me. “Let there be light,” I voiced aloud, and picked up the candle’s stand to search her quarters. Her bed was perfectly made up, and I wondered if it was the maid who did it, or had she not slept on it at all? Her drawers were kept tidy, nothing seemed to be stolen away in the cover of night. _Did she leave everything?_

The looking glass in her room seemed to be turned away, facing the wall instead of out in the open. I found the party’s invitation left on the floor near her bed, as if she dropped it in some fit. Her cloak and boots were missing, which told me she left somewhat prepared for the cold outdoors.

 _Her window,_ I remembered, and pulled back the heavy drapes to find the window had been firmly shut. _Nothing,_ I thought sadly, before I noticed a stray strip of cloth snagged in one of the hinges. It was a heavy material, like it belonged to a cloak or sturdy piece of clothing. There was an alluring smell to it too, a richness that I even found invigorating. It has a man’s smell to it, I was almost certain of it. _So, there was a man involved,_ I thought, as I stared out the window to find the field was rolling with a heavy fog. I clutched the material tightly in my hand, pleased that this was a first clue of many. I moved away from her window, feeling like I was being watched before I shut the drapes behind me. I went over to her dresser and moved her clothes back, searching, searching, when finally, I found something at the bottom drawer tucked away in the corner underneath her immodest clothing. It was a thin book, small and insignificant, and yet it claimed my attention more than it should.

“What’s so special about you?” I asked into the gloom and settled down on the edge of her bed before I opened it. _It’s a diary,_ I realized, taking note of the dates and names assigned to each page. She was very detailed, almost explicit in her entries. I flipped the page to the halfway mark and found the date: February 13, 1843, the day she went missing. There was little more than a paragraph, quickly scrawled out much to my displeasure. The day before it was rather lengthily, and the day before that was written over a few series of pages at least.

“I have all that I need,” I said aloud, and tried to ignore the cold sensation that ran over me when I shut the book in the palm of my hand. There was something eerie about this place, something not right- I should leave. I got up and sprinted to the door, determined to leave this house for good, but someone was standing just outside of the door waiting for me.

 


	2. The Songs of Love and War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stark family employe Dectective Varys to investigate their daughter’s disappearance. Varys has only one lead, the last entries in Sansa Starks diary that mentions the name Lord Baelish. Who is this mysterious character, and what does he have anything to do with this sweet, young girl who has a mind of her own?

“Shhhhh!” hissed in the air in front of me, before I felt two large hands grapple me in the darkness. One large hand covered my mouth and slammed me into the door behind me. I tried to fight back but he used his shoulders and arms to restrain me. “Do you heeeaarrr it?” he whispered, with his lips just hovering over my neck. “In the darkness?”

I murmured into his mouth, half afraid of my life. I used my body to try to push him away, but there was strength in his arms and his grip that tightened around my mouth.

“Don’t speak,” he shrilled. “Don’t make a sound.”

I stood perfectly still, releasing the pressure I gave to his forearm to let it fall back to place by my side. _If I am submissive, maybe he’ll let me go._

“Do you hear the gunshots?” he said with a quickened voice. “The canons? Poof, poof, into the air!”

I wiggled my face to the side to tell him I had no idea what he was speaking about, his grip grew stronger with the very edges of his nails digging into my skin.

“They’ll make a song about us now,” he stammered out with the sound of spit sputtering from his mouth. “They’ll tell stories if we survive.” He unhanded me suddenly and raised his hands over his head, jumping up and down as though he was celebrating.

I leaned against the door frame, scared for my life as this man wildly jumped up and down before me. _The boys mad,_ I thought, before he suddenly clapped his hands about me and shouted, “Will the war be won? Will the war be won?”

“What war?” I said through gritted teeth, having enough of this clamour for one day.

He pulled me off the door and spinned me around in fast circles as he sang, “As winter begins, aye mind Boney, it wasn’t only you. Who was broken on the field of Waterloo-”

“Waterloo!” I shouted out, and pulled down his arms down from my shoulders as I cried out, “The Battle of Waterloo!”

“Shhh! They can’t hear us,” he hushed, and crouched down to the floor as if he was hiding from something. I could hear him breathing harshly, wind coming out of his nostrils at a frantic pace that made my mind go into flight mode. I backed away slowly, feeling my way out Sansa’s doorway until I felt the pine-wood railing behind me.

 _I need to get out of here,_ I thought, while I shoved Sansa’s diary into the inner pocket of my cloak. _Or I’ll turn out like him._

“Shhhh,” echoed from Sansa’s chamber, and followed me as I continued to backpedal down the hall. Luckily, the staircase wasn’t far, so I tiptoed down it with my eyes constantly on the doorway to her room.

I wished the floor wasn’t so soft and easy to move around without being heard, for I suddenly saw a shadow cross in the darkness and felt the looming figure follow me down the stairs. He was quiet, too quiet, but I heard a gently ticking noise coming from his open mouth. I began to walk faster, not liking how quiet the entire house had become aside from him.

“Surgeon o surgeon, leave me tae my pain. Save your knife for others who will surely rise again,” sang the man a few steps away from me, who was now skipping down the flight of stairs. I reached the landing quickly, and practically ran down the hallway until I reached Lord Eddard’s Stark private rooms. I opened it without thinking, and slammed the door behind me before I turned around.

“Detective Varys?” he sharply said, and rose from his leather bound seat to take a good look at me. “You look like you’ve seen a bloody ghost?”

I trembled suddenly, agitated from the nerves and the adrenaline that was still inside of me. Lord Stark walked towards me, setting his workbook aside to give me his full attention.

“There’s a madman,” I stammered. “He almost attacked me.”

His gaze was resolute, but I noticed the faint twitching at the side of his face. “Did he now?” he drawled, and walked past me while he pulled out a set of keys in his hand. “Wait here, Detective Varys,” he commanded, and left me without another word.

The door sealed itself behind me with a loud click announcing I was certainly locked in. _I knew I should have brought Detective Wales,_ I thought, but I never imagined this investigation would be so dangerous to my person.

I’m supposed to be looking for a missing child, and now I’m locked away in Lord Stark’s room.

There was some yelling throughout the house, and storming of steps racing up and down the staircase. I leaned against the door, trying to overhear some words but I couldn’t make anything out. A series of steps ran down the hallways now; a cry from a woman, an angry yell, a sharp shrill from a violin as if Bran scrapped it with annoyance before the house dissolved into a steady state of silence again. I felt hot from the fire that Lord Stark had set a blaze in the center of his room, and shedded my overcoat and hat until I felt slightly more comfortable. I hid the secret diary down my shirt, not certain if Lord Stark would approve Scotland Yard reading his daughter’s private diary. _But it might have some clues_ , I deliberated, after I padded it flat against my stomach. I was putting on my black blazer again when I heard heavy footsteps approaching the door, and soon a key inserted into the lock before Lord Stark opened it widely for me.

“Have a seat,” he stated, after a few seconds of deliberation. “Will talk in here.”

I pulled out a wooden chair meant for his guests, and sat crossed legged as I looked at the man opposite me.

“What did you see?” he finally relayed, once he pulled out his pack of cigarettes.

“Its more of what I heard. I never saw a face in the darkness.”

“Detective Varys you are here to investigate my daughter’s disappearance, but being here you will obviously find out some things I had rather kept to myself. What you saw- or heard must never pass out of this household, do you understand?”

“I do not.”

“That young man was my son,” he relayed with uneasiness. “He is, as you say… quite _mad_.”

“Rickon must be seven, my Lord. This person I met in Sansa’s room was a man full grown.”

“Physically, yes.” He struck his match and raised it to his cigarette absentmindedly. “Intellectually he has the mind of a ten year old, but that was _not_ Rickon.”

“Rob?”

“He is in Scotland,” he answered me, after he cracked his knuckles. “The person you met was my son, Jon, a _bastard_.”

“You have another child?”

“A secret child.”

“One you wish no one to know about.”

“If I want to continue my successful career in politics, then yes.”

“I understand, my Lord.”

“Jon is…” he waved the burnt out match in the air nonchalantly. “Mentally disturbed. He has been that way for years.”

“Has he been taken to the doctor?”

“They want to put him into an asylum. If I did that, then, my name would be on record. People would talk-”

“In that case, your secret is safe with me,” I informed him with the fullest assurance.

“Thank you,” he breathed with the smoke swirling out of his mouth. “What did he say to you?”

“He talked about the war. I believe he was referring to the Battle of the Waterloo, but he was speaking of it in present tense. He is too young to fight in the war, my Lord.”

“When he was a child I would invite my relatives over, on my wife’s side and my own, and they would tell tales of the war. Jon loved it most of all, and if he could, he would have fought side by side with them.”

“He has a great imagination,” I confessed. “It felt like I was in battle with him.”

“He lives for battle… war, but it can become a danger to my family and myself, as you have just witnessed. I keep him locked away in the attic, but he is free to roam about from time to time under the strictest supervision. One of the maid’s, Clara, watches him since she is the largest of the servants, but if she is unavailable I get my gardener, Winston, to care for him.”

“Is he a danger?”

“Only if you say the wrong word. A _trigger_ , that’s what Bran calls it.”

“Was Sansa scared of him?”

“No,” he breathed, and tapped the end of his cigarette into a glass plate. Dark and white chunks fell to the bottom, letting a faint line of smoke rise in the air from it. “Sansa felt sorry for him. She was always quiet on the subject, but I knew it affected her. She’s embarrassed by it… we all are.”

“Did she want to send him away?”

“No, she loves him, in her own way.”

“And do you?”

“No, but I have to hire someone stronger than Clara soon. I don’t know what that boy eats but he is getting _stronger_.”

“He takes after his father,” I complimented in a tone softer than usual. I felt sorry for this man, who looked so grave when speaking on so sensitive a subject. _He is a father who doesn’t know what to do,_ I realized, and the loss of his daughter doesn’t help the situation. “In future, if he is about, could you keep me company for the time being?”   
“I locked him away,” he gruffly replied. “He had enough fun and games for the time being.” Lord Stark stood up with the cigarette lazily resting between his lips. “You’ll stay for dinner.”

“I don’t think that is such a good idea.”

“Dinner,” he roared, and pushed back his chair to show he meant it. “If the weather is rough you are welcome to stay the night as well.”

“It should not come to that.”

“There is a heavy fog,” he told me, as he rounded the table and reached for the doorknob. “You’ll have trouble going back to Scotland Yard.”  
“Then I should return home, and see them in the morning. Please, my Lord, you have nothing to worry about,” I said with the greatest of civility. “I want to find your daughter, just as much as you.”

He rested his hand over my back and led me out the room, towering over me instantly when we walked side by side. He pointed to an open doorway and I found myself in the dining room illuminated by a candle chandelier. The room was colder here, with windows all around, shut tightly with heavy brown drapes that descended to the floor. “Do you smoke?” he asked me, as he leaned against the empty fireplace, and moved the blocks of wood to an appropriate level.

“I do, but I’m on the job.”

“Not anymore.” He knelt down on his knees, in an effort not to stretch his back when adjusting the wood. “You are staying for dinner, after all.”

“You are most kind.”

“Anything to get back my daughter,” he relayed while his back was still turned, and I doubted his sincerity for a moment. “Do you have a child, Detective Varys?”

“I’m not married.”

“You can have a child, and still not be married,” he pointed out. He brushed off the dusty sooty on his black pants, and realized his error only moments afterwards. “Christ,” he cursed, before he raised himself from the ground.

“I have no children.”

“Do you want one?”

“I’m too old for that,” I said in truth. “And my job is so demanding.”

“You ever deal with homicidal cases?”

“No.”

“So, your not one of those clever detectives that my son is always talking about?”

“I should hope so, my Lord.”

“I can never get him away from books,” he grumbled. “Bran read the latest edition of Penny Dreadfuls, and now that’s all he talks about. Murder this, murder that, its alarming.”

“He sounds like most of my co-workers at Scotland Yard.”

“Are you allowed visitors? I should ask if he would like to join you sometime? Maybe he can help.”

“Perhaps,” I replied with my hands interlaced behind my back in a simple manner. A pause ensued, and I took that opportunity to look at the dark pine table with leather studded seats at the ready. _I suppose I’ll be sitting in Sansa’s seat,_ I sadly thought, _and wondered where she was right now?_

“Would you like a drink?” Lord Stark asked me, which brought my thoughts back to the present moment.

“On the job,” I reminded him, with a soft tap of my right foot. “Where is everyone?”

“Getting dressed. My wife should be joining us, unless she still feels under the weather.” He raised his cigarette just in front of his lips as he warned, “Try not to upset her.”

“I won’t.”

He took a long drag, tilting his head upwards with enjoyment. A grey fog escaped his nostrils as he slowly lowered his head, and I noticed how he puckered his lips slightly when he was done. “I’m tired,” he voiced aloud. “I just want Sansa to come home.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what to say, so I simply looked at the closed drapes as if it would unlock some secret key in my mind. I heard steps descending downstairs, and soon it was Bran walking through the open doorway. “Detective Varys,” he politely said, and took his place by his father before he wished him a quiet good evening.

I cleared my throat nervously before I utterted, “You look sharp, Lord Bran,” and gestured to his heavy wool cloak of a rich mahogany colour with a dark auburn double breasted vest that showed off his slim figure. The black satin cravat snuggly fit around his neck with a tiny silver pin, all of which was elegant and refined without obvious attention. _He dresses nothing like his father,_ I noted, taking in his father’s careless attire that was hastily thrown on his shoulders this morning. _He must get this partially from his mother,_ I deduced, and was appraised when I watched her walk through the doorway suddenly.

I bowed low as she caught my eye, feeling my own cheeks blush at the sheer beauty of this women. She aged well with smooth skin and bright crimson hair that catched in the light ever so brilliantly. She was timid at first, caught off guard by this unknown stranger, but her husband’s gentle whispers in her ear soon put her at ease. “Detective Varys,” she purred, and raised up her hand for me to hold fondly. I wouldn’t dare kiss it in front of Lord Stark, but releasing her hand was with the greatest difficulty.

Her light green dress reflected the lights up above; the white collars around her wrists looked so soft and dainty around her creamy white hands. _She’s beautiful,_ I acknowledge, and had trouble keeping my eyes off her, even when I tried my best to look at her brooding looking husband instead.

“You will help us, won’t you?” she asked in a fairy-like voice.

“Yes,” was all that I could muster with a faltering gaze.

“My husband tell me you are staying for dinner. You must sit near me.” She pulled out a chair for me to sit, and soon she happily seated next to me with childish wonder. _Was Sansa like this,_ I wondered, _all charm and beauty?_

Lady Stark was bewitching, and a man like me who has lived so dreadfully alone felt it most now. I had no family to go home too, no wife, no lover, just a cold and empty lodging with nothing but an irritating landlord to converse with from time to time.

A servant came in with a jug of water, and a tray full of freshly baked bread. He must have been the butler, for he greeted me amiably, though he made no real eye contact when he did so. My glass was filled first before he went around the table, so I took the time to study him. The butler was tall and lanky, dusty blond hair that was balding at the top already, in spite of his young age. His hand shook while he poured the water, and I was wondering if it was just nerves or should I be suspicious of him. _He must be a little over thirty,_ I deduced, and wondered if that age was too old for Sansa. Still, he lacked any sort of enticements that would make him a love interest, and if was involved with her disappearance would he be mad enough to stay here?

I heard a soft padding passing the threshold and entering into the dining room, and it was there that I saw Arya dressed in mild coloured sky-blue dress that barely had enough colour to contain my interests. _It’s dull,_ I thought, even though I cared little for women’s fashion. I felt as if Arya wanted to be invisible, and with her long pout I thought it best to leave her alone tonight. “Where’s Jon?” she asked.

“He’s upstairs,” her father gruffly replied with a careless toss of his cigarette into the iron grate.

“Why isn’t he here?”

“Because we have a guest.”

Arya looked in my direction, and then back at her father with a shrug of the shoulders. “He already met, Jon, he told me.”

“He told you?”

“Yes, he called him “Captain.’”

“I am no Captain,” I assured her. “But a detective of Scotland Yard, and I am here to find your sister,” I announced as stern reminder. “And I have _no_ issues with your brother sitting here.”

Lord Stark straightened his back a little higher as he bellowed, “But I do.”

I reached for my cup and swallowed the water bitterly, seeing no point in having a fight right now. Lady Stark sensed the tension, and chose to put the conversation on a lighter subject. “Detective Varys, are you fond of turkey?”

“I am.”

“Then you will enjoy your meal tonight.” She tapped her finger lightly on her glass cup, hoping to think of something else to say. “We have a good cook.”

“I am sure you do.”

A welcome distraction walked through the door, for young Lord Rickon was sniffling as he ran up to his mother. “I stubbed my toe,” he wailed, and pressed his face into his mother’s chest. “Why is the hallway so dark?”

“You should have come down with your sister,” she scolded, while she soothed back his hair in a motherly fashion. “She would have helped you in the dark.”

“Where’s Sansa?” he blurted out. “Why has she not come?”

“She is still away with her friends, my dear,” she softly muttered under her breath. “But she will be back soon.”

“Is she with Marg?”

“Yes, they went to away to Bath, just like I told you.”

“Its cold there,” he moaned, and moved his head back to an appropriate level. “And she never liked Bath.”

“There will be balls and dancing, and music that will fill her with delight,” she lied. “And when you’re a big boy you can go there too.”

“Sansa,” I piped up, and waited for the women’s cool blue eyes to reach mine. “Was she always fond of parties?”

“She loved them.”

“And the last one she went too… before she _went_ away.” I paused to shoot a shy glance at her sniffling son, who was looking so eagerly at me now. “Did she enjoy this one.”

“She loved it,” her mother lied, for her voice faltered as she utterted it. “She was so _sad_ to go.”

“More than usual.”

“She had a lot of admirers,” she explained in a soft tone of voice. She let her son climb onto her lap and rocked him softly with a gentle hum. Her mind went elsewhere for a moment, before her eyes went completely black with rage. “I wish Robb was here!” she shouted across the table. “At least he would keep unsuitables out our daughter’s way.”

“Unsuitables?” her husband repeated with a look of alarm. “Bran told me she danced purely with gentleman.”

“You forget the times, my dear, anyone can be a gentleman now. All you need is a pocket of gold and the world is yours.”

“Its the war,” her husband rebutted. “They get awards, and lands, and suddenly they think they are leveled with us. _Commander_ this, _Officer_ that, and then they think they deserve the same respect as we do.”

Bran took a seat by his father as he argued, “They fought for our King and country to defeat Napoleon. I think they deserve that much.”

“Its a Queen now,” Lord Stark rebutted. “And all of England went to hell because of that.”

“That’s treason!” Bran spat out.

“I’m a man, and I don’t want to be told what to do by a _woman_.”

In the corner of my eye I watched Lady Stark’s face grimace, but she kept her mouth completely shut the entire time. The two men of the house began to argue, so I took this opportunity to announce I was going to the latrine. The hallways were dark as I walked across the house, trying to remember the instructions Lady Stark gave me to find it. I passed by the main front door and opened it slightly, taking in the fact that the fog was thicker than normal. _It will be_ _hard to find a taxi,_ I mused, _but to stay here would be most unwise._

A shifting movement was heard behind me, and I closed the door quickly to see a maid scampering up the stairs. “Excuse me!” I cried out, and waited for her to turn around so I could address her. “You are?”

“Sara.”

“Lady Sansa’ personal maid?”

“I- I am.”

“Would you come down her for a moment?” I asked in a gentlemanly manner. She was hesitant as she made her way towards me, blinking constantly as I smiled at her agreeably. “Please don’t be afraid,” I asked of her, and made sure I was standing in the center of the front hallway so I could be seen by others passing the hall. _And if she feels the need to escape she is free too,_ I noted, taking in the staircase and the hallway for her to sprint away if she wanted too. “I want to find Lady Stark,” I told her. “I was hoping you could help.”

“I don’t know where she is.”

“That is perfectly fine, but I was hoping you could fill in some pieces. First, she was very excited about the party, was she not?”

“She was?”

“More than usual.”

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

“She was more attentive to her wardrobe than usual.”

“I understand she wanted her hair done a certain way.”

“Like Lady Tyrell, her friend,” she replied.

“Did she bring an illustration, or did she tell you how to do it.”

“She told me, sir.”

“And did she do anything unusual? Anything out of the ordinary.”

“She wore a _new_ necklace. It was beautiful, like shimmering black stones the shape of water drops all down her neck. She told me Lady Tyrell bought it for her but…”

“You don’t believe her.”

“They just aren’t like that,” she exclaimed with a shrug of the shoulders. “It was awfully expensive, even her mother was asking about it.”

“And she wore it that night? The night she went away?”

“Oh, she was quite adamant about it.”

“And she came home with the same necklace.”

“Yes, and intended to put it in some precious little box once she went upstairs.”

“And without your help?” I pointed out. “I heard she didn’t even want your help to undress.”

“She had a headache, sir.”

“All the more reason for help.”

“She’s independant,” the lady said as an excuse. “She was quite sharp tongued with me that night, and I wasn’t about to bother her for nothin’.”

“She was curt?” I inquired. “Short tempered?”

“Yes, and rude, but you mustn't tell anyone I said that!”

“I won’t.”

“Something must have happened?”

“Yes, but what?” I asked, as I stepped into her space. “What could have made Lady Sansa that way?”

“Whoever she was trying to impress… it didn’t end well.”

* * *

February 11, 1843

The day has been fine, I spent most of it in the backyard fixing a hem to one of my dresses I had bought last spring. Arya and Rickon had joined me, inspecting the ground for bugs; Arya wishes to expand her collection, but the cold winter months haven’t been kind to her.

My father and mother are out at an auction and won't be back till late evening, my mother is quite determined to have a painting and my father complains it will break his purse. He had said the same thing about my crimson red dress after he complained it made me look like the ladies of the night- he bought it all the same.

“I have always found the colour of red _appealing_.” Those were his very words the day we first met under the shade of the chestnut tree. I should like to take that path again, but mother wants me to stay at the house until father and her gets home.

It's beginning to darken, and I worry if I shall ever see him again.

Margaery says I'm silly to fall in love so fast, and perhaps she is right, for he is a _stranger._

No matter, stranger things have happened in London and I am determined to take that path yet again, that leads to the courtyard of Winterfell’s public gardens.

And maybe, just maybe I’ll see him again.


	3. The Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stark family employe Dectective Varys to investigate their daughter’s disappearance. Varys has only one lead, the last entries in Sansa Starks diary that mentions the name Lord Baelish. Who is this mysterious character, and what does he have anything to do with this sweet, young girl who has a mind of her own?

The horse galloped down the street, as though it was in a chariot race, a thing I was thankful for as I rummaged through my deep pockets to find my pipe. “Damn I’m late,” I mumbled, once I plucked it from the bottom of my pocket with the box of matches crushed beneath it. Both were ceremoniously taken out, and thrust between my lips before the driver even had time to turn the corner. “This will cost me my job,” I said aloud, and leaned my head back on the seat regrettably, wishing there was someway to turn back the time.

 _I should have never stayed out so late,_ I mused, and then I tried to read the first entry to Sansa’s diary when I came home under the fading candle light.

The wheels underneath the carriage skidded on the slick wet cobblestones as it took a sharp turn, telling me that the driver took my word that I would pay him twice as much if he took me to Scotland Yard in under ten minutes. A puff of smoke released from my lungs, and I batted my eyes slowly when pulling the blinds back so I could take in the view. _Same old London,_ I thought, as I took in the bustling streets on this warm winter’s day. _With not a cloud in the_ _sky_ , I pleasantly thought, and closed my eyes again to bask in the warmth of the sun.

The carriage jolted forward and then stopped, sending me back on my seat with infuriating pain. “We’re here, sir!” the driver yelled up above, so I took the liberty of opening the door and jumping out the small carriage. “Scotland Yard.”

“Here’s your pay,” I gruffly said, and dropped a handful of coins into his pocket. I hardly looked at him, before I turned my back to him and walked down the narrow pathway that would lead me to the front gates. Four guards were stationed there, and only one pulled down his hat to greet me a goodmorning. “Ralph,” I said through barely parted lips.

“Later than usual,” he remarked as I passed him by.

I laughed over my shoulder as I remarked, “What can I say? Long night.”

He raised his eyebrows with suspicion, but had no time to reply for I was already mounting up the dull grey steps to the large establishment. It was gloomy with darkness when I went inside, a sea of men in black and grey walked down the hallway with a brisk pace, showing the events of last night had been busy. I pulled off my cap, wiping my hands across the shiny bald surface as I went down the main corridor to get to my office. There was a set of stairs I had to take, the investigation section was situated there, and my division in particular was at the very back.

“She had white skin like the moon,” someone said, as I approached my bosses quarters, which made me stop in my tracks to take a good listen. “The men are still at the scene of the crime.”

“She’s a whore, just like the rest of them,” Samuel replied, his voice wooden and disinterested enough to show he didn’t care one bit.

“But, sir, her death was unusual.”

I took a step forward to peak through the door, and that’s when my boss caught me with his steely gaze. “Varys, come here!” he barked, and dropped his pen down on the desk with annoyance. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“No excuses?”

“I was at the Stark’s home till late last night.”

“And _why_ , Varys, were you there so late?”

“Lord Stark invited me to stay for dinner.”

“Lord Stark invited _you_.”

“He did.” I held my cap in front of my stomach, and waited for Samuel to continue to express his utter disbelief.

“Have you found anything?”

“I have some sort of lead, sir,” I told him honestly. “But I will need to interview more people.”

“Keep me updated.” He pointed at a basket on his desk and rapped out, “Anything important you put in here, you understand?”

I nodded my head in ascension, and he promptly sent me on my way. I found my office space in no time at all, a little cupboard as I fondly called it, though this hole deserved no such appreciation in truth. I sat down on my chair, ignoring the harshness of the wood on my behind before I dug into my coat pocket to retrieve Sansa’s diary. Placing it on the center of my table I then dug out the folder Lord Stark gave me, and flipped it open to the first page. _What a long list,_ I digressed, after I looked at the possible people I needed to speak with. _And so far no suspects…_

A knock on the door echoed across my room, and I shuffled the papers back into the folder before I called out, “Come inside!”

“Finally made it,” Detective Wales shot back the minute he opened the door. He stepped into the room with his arms crossed and a faint snicker escaping his lips. “Late.”

“I got tied up,” I lied, and pushed the important documents to the side of my desk. “What’s the matter?”

“Why do you think something is the matter?” he asked, as he strode his hand across his pepper-grey hair that was cut so short he was nearly bald.

“Because you either want something, or your here to tell me idle gossip.”

He took a seat opposite me, rubbing his fingers across his stony grey moustache before he piped up, “Did you hear about the murder last night?”

“Was it interesting?” I asked. “Because these kind of things happen everyday.”

“Just outside of a brothel. A girl lays flat on the ground, unmolested and fully dressed, and she’s as pale as a ghost, but no one can tell what’s wrong with her or how she died.”

“Opium?” I suggested. “Or any other drug that these immigrants keep smuggling into the country.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re an immigrant, Varys.” I looked up from my hands and glared at him with vengeance. “Nothing personal.”

“Sure, that’s what they all say.”

“It wasn’t no drugs,” he pointed out, in an effort to change the topic. “They brought her body back here to examine it.”

“Then tell me what they find.”

“I thought you didn’t care!”

I pulled out my torn-up notebook from my pocket and slammed it against the table. “I don’t.”

“Then why-”

“I have a lot of things to do, Wales, so if you don’t mind?”

“I’ll see myself out,” he laughed, and waved a careless goodbye before he left the room.

I uncapped my pen and wrote down on a blank piece of paper: “Who was the man she met under the chestnut tree?”

I tapped the nib down on the paper, creating a dotted pattern at random before I added: “Where did she get that necklace? And who was it from? Was it from him?”

I crossed out the last part, remembering that it wasn’t never a good idea to jump to conclusions. Still, my gut instincts told me that it was _him_ who gifted it to her. “Why was she unhappy?” was the last bit I wrote, before I raised myself from the seat. The next several minutes I charted out all the names on the sheet Lord Stark gave me in accordance to the London map, plotting out my visits for today. _Let’s hope_ _they tell me something good,_ I thought, before I grabbed my things and headed out the room. I’m running out of time, I deliberated, knowing the longer I took to find her- the greater she was in danger.

* * *

February 12, 1843

I woke up with a feverish feeling this morning, vaguely remembering a nightmare that came over me. I can’t remember what it was, but it was dark and cold, and heavy like mounds of dirt burying a casket. Casket? Such an odd thing to say…

I wish it wasn’t still morning, if only the sun wasn’t up today. Lord Baelish told me he only likes to come out when it is wet and rainy, and that it was the rainy weather of London that has enticed him to stay. But no, it must be sunny and cheerful, when I would rather eternal gloom.

Uncle Benjen will be here within a quarter of an hour, and I wondered if I will have to hear his sermons again. Isn’t it enough that I hear them on Sundays, but now I must listen to it in my free time as well. Arya thinks we should play a prank on him, but I think that will only get us in further trouble. Father has been in ill humour today, and I would not dare strike out his wrath further.

Lady Tyrell’s invitation is still laying next to bed. I wish it was now, instead of the ‘morrow. Lord Baelish shall be there, he assured me himself, and asked that I wear the pretty jewels we found that one evening.

“Excuse me, Miss, but I think you dropped something,” he relayed to me that fateful day, and when I turned around I saw shimmering black jewels dangle from his hand. “Anything as beautiful as this, must surely belong to you.”

“It’s not mine,” I answered him, caught between the startling radiance from his steely grey eyes to the jewels that reflected the dim surroundings. It was raining that day, and I knew mother would be angry with me for walking home alone from Lady Tyrell’s house but I could not stand being indoors any longer and the thought of being imprisoned in a borrowed carriage nearly put me in a state of despair.  

“Are you quite sure?” this handsome gentleman asked, and took a step closer to partially be under the shelter of my umbrella. His top hat was dripping with water, and when he tilted his head slightly to look at the necklace in hand it poured down and settled in the palm of his hand.

“I’m certain.”

“Then you may have it,” he said with ease, “Since there is none other to claim it.”

I reached for it, but common sense told me to pull my hand back. “I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot take it.”

“Then consider it a gift,” he prompted as he raised his hand to my eye level. “For a creature so fair and beautiful as you, should have it.”

“But,” I giggled. “My mother has always taught me to not take things from strangers.”

“Then,” he drawled in a deep Irish brogue. “Consider me your friend.”

* * *

Lady Olenna Tyrell was extremely irritable this morning, or was always in this despicable mood? “You’ve interrupted my breakfast,” she chirped the moment I sat down. “They say you’re from Scotland Yard.”

“I am. Detective Varys, at your service.”

“More yours,” she quipped. “I’d offer you tea but I'm hoping you won't stay that long.”

“I shall be short and concise.”

She picked up her spoon again to crack at the side of her boiled egg. “Have you any idea where Sansa has gone?”

“No, and that's why I’m here. Can you tell me about that night?”

“What is there to tell? She came home safely, I know because my driver Tage told me. He doesn't know much English, but at least he can tell me that. I don't understand how she could have gone missing, did she sneak out in the night?”

“I believe with some help she did.”

“The scoundrel! Unless, it was her sister Arya. That's a wild child, I tell you, a girl who needs to know the feeling of a leather belt.”

“I believe it was a man that helped her.”

“A man?” she said with interest. “Who?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“It better not be Joffrey! I know Lord Stark is quite fond of him, but the rumours my granddaughter and I hear. We would never tell dear Sansa, of course, she is already on pins and needles about the wedding.”

“Joffrey was not present that night, I believe.”

“Out of town,” she said with a sly smile. “The Lannister’s just opened up a factory in Liverpool and they have gone to pay it a visit.”

“So, it couldn’t be him,” I confirmed.

“Unlikely.” She took a meager bite of the boiled egg, chomping on it while it crumbled and fell down her chin. “But you said it was a man?” she mused.

“I believe so, but no solid proof yet.”

“She was very liked at our party. My poor granddaughter was overshadowed by Sansa for once, and she took it very bravely. Poor girl, to think a crimson dress could claim every man’s attention.”

“So, everyone’s been saying.”

“I pulled her father aside, and scolded him for it. If he wasn’t such a great Lord I might have done worse. To think he let her out of the house like that, and then have no chaperone. She was free to go wherever she pleased, and I told my granddaughter- warned her to stay clear. But did she? No.”

“So, she was with her for most of the night.”

“The pair are inseparable.”

“Is your granddaughter here now? I would like to question her?”

“She will be down soon, but you forget Mr…”

“Detective Varys,” I reminded her.

“Detective, that you have come very early.”

“Then whenever she is free.” I lifted the glass of water she had offered me, and took a small sip as my mind wandered away for the moment. Lady Olenna evidently seemed to care for Lady Stark, but she hardly seemed troubled by her disappearance. “Was Sansa happy?” I found myself asking. “Here?”

“Here.”

“I heard she visited your house often.”

“Very happy. She’s known my daughter for five years now, going on six by the summer. They had the same governess, you see, and the Tyrell’s and the Stark’s go back for sometime.”

“Does she visit your granddaughter often?”

“Once or twice a week. Sometimes more, depending on the weather.”

“And how did she get here?”

“Carriage.”

“Did she ever walk?”

“No, that’s most unheard of! She is a lady, Detective, and a respectable one at that.”

“I see.” My eyes drifted to the right, as I replayed Sansa’s journal entry in my mind that I had read on the journey here.

“Tage takes her,” Lady Olenna piped up over the rim of her cup. “You can hardly discern a word he says, but you can try to speak to him if you’d like.”

“Tage has been with you long?”

“A few months. Very short replacement, you see, but its only temporary. Mr. Owen’s wife died from childbirth, and I have given him leave until he is fit to return to his services.”

“I am… very sorry.”

“Such is life,” she said with a wave of the hand. “Any more questions before I go up to change?”

“You are leaving?”

She raised herself from her seat with a certain primness as she uttered, “I am a very busy lady, Detective.”

“In that case, did you notice anything unusual about-”

“Sansa?” She clapped her hands together, as her thoughts came into its own. “She was… more sociable than usual. She danced with more than twelve men, and many of who I barely recognized. You see, some men and women came in uninvited, but I was happy everyone was having a good time. As long as they were respectable, than they should be allowed to stay. A small gathering is fun, but a large party is better!”

“Was there any strange men there?”

“No, they were all Englishmen.”

“Nothing to cause alarm?”

“No,” she droned, and pouted slightly by me even suggesting it.

“Any _Irishmen?”_

“Irish?” she tilted her head, as she tried to remember it. “I’m not too fond of the Irish, so I would remember encountering one.”

“Could you give me a list of all men who were in attendance that night?”

“If you give me a few days I will.”

“This evening would be better. Memory, I find can slip away over time. One other thing… what did you think of Sansa’s necklace?”

“The black one?” She puckered her lips, making long line transverse across her face until her face reminded me of aged bark on a withering tree. “It was a bit ostentatious, but I thought it went well with the dress.”

“Have you seen it before that night?”

“Never.”

“And did you’re granddaughter mention anything about it.”

“She teased me- vexed me about giving to her. Marg thinks she is so funny, but I never laughed once. I was going to berate her father for such an item, but I forgot, and now it is too late to bring it up.”

“I think you should,” I slyly suggested. “Her necklace and her dress seems to be everyone’s conversation these days.”

“Well, she is a sweet girl,” Lady Olenna tiredly said. “And I’m not sure what’s gotten into her. If you come with me, then I’ll show you to Marg.”

“Thank you,” I said with a slight bow, before I followed her out the room.

* * *

A plump little girl was stretched out across a wicker chair with an idle book laying in her lap. Her long, curly brunette hair fell down her shoulders and chest as she stared out at the garden in the backyard. She was a pretty thing, a quick catch for any man in the waiting. She was lost in thought when I approached her, half startled when I rounded myself before her with a grave little bow. “Lady Tyrell?”

“And you are?” she promptly asked, without answering my question.

“Detective Varys. I have come to inquire about Lady Sansa.”

“Is she alright?”

“She is still missing,” I told her, as I pulled up a wooden stool and set it beside her. “Do you have any idea where she has gone?”

She bit down on her lip, trembling with a certain kind of fear. “Gone, no. But- but I might know who she’s with…”

* * *

February 12, 1843

I feel as if God is testing me. Is this what happens when your uncle is a clergyman? He speaks of purity and love, but what does he know of it?

I was never so happy to see him leave, and when he had a private word with my father I knew I was in trouble. Father went on about my dress again, and how lucky I am to be engaged to Joffrey. He does not listen! I will never marry him, or love him for that matter. I wish I was away- far away, and maybe then I will taste the fruits of freedom.

Bran says I read too much Romanticism, that my sense of duty and reason are all gone, but if I am from the Romanticism than he must be of the Enlightenment. For passion and reason can never be put together, just as the sun and moon are in constant war among the stars.

I feel like a bear ensnared, like a lion in a cage put on for show. Men only speak to me for my beauty, but _he_ sees so much more than that. He sees my heart- the better part of my soul.

Margaery laughs, and reminds me it has only been two weeks since I’ve met him, and even then our encounters in the evenings have been only short and brief. Still, I wait under the chestnut tree, and with pen and paper in hand I wait for night to come. My parents think I am at Margaery’s, and Lady Olenna thinks I am safely at home. If only that was the case, for the sensible part of my mind reminds me of the risks- the danger of meeting this man who I hardly know. God forgive me, for taking this misstep for it may be my last.

* * *

I charged into Detective Wales room and slammed both of my hands on the table as I shouted out, “Where was the murder? The one you were telling me about this morning.”

“37A Danshill Brothel on Church Street, its been blocked off all day.”

“And the- the woman you were telling me about? What did they find?"

“Nothing yet, and they’ve practically cut her apart to investigate it.”

“Wales,” I breathed out frantically. “Who owns that _brothel_?”

“I don’t know, its a shared partnership with a few lads. Why?”

“Because I’m looking for someone, and I need a trail.”

* * *

A light fog was rolling in by the time he came, setting the dirty field in a golden haze. I saw him from a distance, dressed in all black with a long black cape that neatly snugged around his rigid form. He was quiet when he approached me, and lifted my hand to his lips as our normal custom. “Sansa,” he breathed so deeply, it sounded like a storm. His eyes flickered across my face quickly, catching every fading light that trailed across it before he eclipsed completely with his shadow. “You came.”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Have you?” he relayed, and let his soft lips kiss the back of my hand longer this time. I wished he would kiss every part of my skin like that, but it was his lips that claimed me most of all.

“I can’t stay out much longer. My parents will notice.”

“I understand.”

“I wish it wasn’t getting so dark.”

“This darkness is all that I know.” I remembered he reached for both of my hands now, and pulled it closer to his chest as he looked at me hungrily. I wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking then, and why his eyes trailed downward till he reached my neck. He dropped one of my hands to lay his fingers on my pulse, slightly smiling before he raised his eyes to my level. “You’re nervous.”

“No.”

“Then why is your heart rate so fast?”

“Because…”

“Because?”

 _I want to kiss you,_ but those words were cemented to my tongue- never to come out.

Lord Baelish sensed my confliction, and the corner of his mouth tugged into half a smile. “My sweet Sansa, you say nothing?”

I felt my fingers dig into the outside of his hand, unconsciously pulling him closer. “Tell me your name.”

“I’ve told you before-”

“You’re full name.”

“Petyr Baelish.”

“Petyr,” I repeated, and nodded my head with understanding. “You should have told me two weeks ago.”

“I never thought things would go this far,” he said in a soft raspy voice.

“Neither did I.” I rubbed the back of his hand soothingly, trying to swallow back the fear that was quickly coming over me. “You know I’m engaged?”

“To whom?”

“Joffrey Baratheon.”

“I never heard of him.”

“Good,” I laughed out nervously. “Because I hate him.”

“Then who do you _love_ , Sansa?”

I looked away from his chest and met his eyes, so soft and serene-like I feared I could stare at them forever. “You.”

 


	4. Last of the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stark family employe Detective Varys to investigate their daughter’s disappearance. Varys has only one lead, the last entries in Sansa Starks diary that mentions the name Lord Baelish. Who is this mysterious character, and what does he have anything to do with this sweet, young girl who has a mind of her own?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some touchy subjects in the following chapters, so I do apologize in advance. I find a lot of Victorian novels ignore some harsh realities people face if they are not apart of the "privileged few" so I wanted to address those issues in this story. This was evident with Lord Stark's deliberate suppression of his son's mental disability from public eye and his treatment to his family, especially to the female character's in his own home. Thus, if you are offended by the way certain characters treat those who are of a different race, ethnicity, religion, gender, or sex, than I do apologize and can assure you this does not express my own opinions whatsoever.
> 
> \- petyrbaaaeeelish

“Pick up the pace, Wales,” I uttered, while my back was still towards him. The roads were chalked white and dusty in this district, and I didn’t quite fancy staying in this area for so long. _The slums of_ _London,_ I thought, taking in how dark the area truly was despite of it being a warm winter’s day. I pulled off my hat and wiped the sweat away from my brow. I was tired and hungry, but there was still no time too lose.

_With every minute that ticks by I’m losing her._

“Slow down, Varys,” my partner called, and huffed violently once he finally ran to my side. “What’s the hurry?”

“I’ve got a lead, and I don’t want to lose it.”

“I don’t get it! What did that Tyrell girl say?”

“She gave me a name,” I said through gritted teeth. A name as seedy as this district of London, and I intended to meet him face to face.

“You never did tell me what’s going on,” he huffed with a heavy slap to my shoulder. “You told me to bring my gun and that’s about it.”

“For our own protection.”

“You could have brought one of the guards, or something. You know I’m busy-”

“I wouldn’t have asked you unless I _needed_ you.” A sad little smile escaped me as I added, “Besides, I miss the old times.”

“I thought you hated it.”

“I did,” I laughed. “But it was nice to exchange ideas with someone. This old notebook of mine just won’t cut it.”

“So, you know where the girl is?”

“I know she met Lord Baelish at the party. I know she went off with him in a span of less than five minutes during the party, and after that everything changed. I know he put on a fake-accents, so no one would know who he truly was-”

“A German?’

“What?”

“Russian? No, the _French._ ”

“He’s Irish.”

“A revolutionist?”

“No, he’s a tradesman of sorts,” I shot out with a slight dip of the shoulders. “He owns a few establishments in England, but he lives in Ireland. I know for certain he is here on a visit, because he has no lodging to his name.”

“So, how do we find him?”

“By visiting his place of business,” I grumbled, and pointed to a building dead ahead of us with officer’s still lining up along the quiet street. They saw us approaching and raised their weapons in alarm, I dug into my pocket quickly to retrieve a badge that stated my rank and position in Scotland Yard. “No need to be alarmed, lads,” I said in a smooth, almost friendly voice. “I know you have an investigation here, but so do I.”

“You’re not from the homicide department,” one of the guards pointed out, he was average height with a stout figure that gave him some level of intimidation.

“I am not.” I looked at Detective Wales before I continued, “We are looking for a missing person, and evidence has led us here.”

“You need authority too-”

“I already have the authority, and I want to speak of the owner of this business.”

“He’s upstairs,” the guard growled. “But he might under interrogation.”

“I should like to meet him all the same,” I told him, before I brushed past him and motioned my partner to follow me. The front of the building was blocked off, as ten officers studied the scene where the dead body was lying only this morning. _I feel like I’m coming ‘round in circles,_ I thought, never imagining I would end up here. The whorehouse doors were wide open when we approached it, and a few reluctant guards let me into the degrading place. A strong fragrance filled the air, while beaded blinds blocked my view the moment I walked through the front parlour. There was front desk to the side that was empty, and I noticed the drawers behind it where locked with a key. Detective Wales was fiddling with the red and golden beads, taking a peak at the room beyond it.

“So, who are you looking for?” he asked me, while I was bent down trying to unlock any compartment I could find.

“A Lord Baelish,” I answered him. “But he goes by another name around here… _Littlefinger_.”

“Littlefinger,” Wales mocked, while he brushed his nose with the back of his hand. “Got his finger chopped off or something.”

“I don’t know. Margaery Tyrell found out his name at the night of his party when she spoke to one of the male guests that recognized him. She didn’t have the heart to tell Sansa his true name or what he truly is.”

“A whoremonger,” he said in jest. “So, she kept it a secret?”

“A secret that could cost her. Marg, thinks she ran away with him.”

“Littlefinger?”

“The very same,” I answered him as I got off my knees. “I need to find the administrative office, there is nothing here.”

“Its front desk,” my partner reminded me. He brushed the beads back and let me see the open space beyond it. “Let’s take a look around.”

Luxourous couches were everywhere, wide enough to fill a man’s imagination of what he would do to the whores. A long bar spread across the back of the walls, with high leather seats of the finest leather. This wasn’t just some establishment, it must have been the best. Detective Wales looked around with a sly little smile, probably considering what he had been missing all these years. I sat down on one of the high stools and opened my rumpled notebook to the page where my pen had been stored.

_Tage was paid five pounds to keep silent._

I tapped my finger down on the table, wondering how often he was paid to lie to his mistress. I suppose it was a win-win situation for him to drive around an empty carriage, while Lady Sansa elected to walk the streets of London alone to get to the public park on Winterfell avenue- to that tree that so often filled her thoughts and dreams.

“We should check upstairs,” my partner called out. I looked up from the sheet of paper to find him sitting right next to me. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Do you think she’s okay?” I asked him, without actually thinking it through. “Running away with this man?”

“Are they ever okay?” he asked me honestly.

“She was so young… so ignorant of everything.”

“She’s a child,” he proposed with a harmless shrug of the shoulders. “She didn’t no any better.”

“She loved him,” I said while patting my chest where her diary was stored.

“The question is, do you want to find her?”

“I have too,” I breathed. “Her family deserves to know.”

“Who she is with?”

“No,” I answered him as I slipped off the high chair. “That it was her _decision._ ”

* * *

I had to raise my voice over the creaky stairs beneath my feet as I uttered, “You know the weird thing is… Lord Baelish was virtually invisible at that party. I mean, no one even noticed he was there. The only reason Marg noticed him, was because of the sudden change of mood from Sansa.”

“Happy?”

“You can say! But from the way she was describing it, well, she sounded almost bewitched.”

“He must be something else?”

“Based on appearances, it didn’t sound like it,” I replied, as I leaned my hand against the narrow staircase that kept going upward. The black and gold wallpaper made my head go dizzy, since I never liked enclosed spaces, and this was testing my resilience for sure.

“So, what’s so special about him?” my partner asked behind me.

“Well, he most certainly has a way with words.”

“And women, guessing on this establishment.” He nudged me on my back shoulder to point out an erotic painting to the side of us. “It’s like they are trying to put us in a mood.”

“Your feeling it, Wales?” I taunted.

“Oh, that was long ago.” He nudged me forward with both hands and I took one last look at the tempting painting before I continued to walk ahead.

“How is your wife these days?”

“Oh,” Wales groaned as though he was in pain. “You just had to remind me of her, didn’t you?”

“To not commit adultery, then yes.”

“This is coming from the man that isn’t a Christian.”

“Says the one who is always talking about the Holy Church!” I spat out, before I leaned against the dazzling wallpaper. “But, really, how is she?”

“Sandra is fine,” he mumbled. “Hates these long hours I work. It was never like this in Manchester.”

“That’s London, for you,” I piped up, before I started to walk up the staircase again.

“What about you? Met any pretty Jewish girls?”

“What makes you think I want a Jewish girl?”

“You are half one, aren’t you?”

“I’m Italian too.”

He raised his arms in the airs in a mocking gesture. “Italian,” he said with air quotations.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” I shot out, hoping to change the topic.

 _Its better that no one knows what I truly am,_ I recollected, before I pulled down the rim of my cap over the front of my face more.

“Its ‘cause you aren’t even trying.”

“The only thing that interests me is finding that Stark girl,” I rapped out, after I stepped on the last staircase to the fourth level of the apartment. “And that’s the _only_ thing that matters.”

There were some gagging sounds coming from one of the inner rooms, which made Wales pull out his gun with lightening speed. He used his broad hand to hold me back and forced his way around me before he leveled his gun. There was sound of beating too, like fists knocking hard on flesh and low moans from a tightly gagged mouth. The hallway was empty, and the doors that we passed by where all unlocked but empty inside. Wales walked ahead of me, while I crept behind him, inspecting the area to make sure we were truly alone.

“Don’t give me that shit,” a heavy cockney accent yelled from a room just ahead of us to the right. “We know you got records.”

“We don’t keep no records!”

“You expect me to believe that.” Another sound of heavy thumping and then something falling to the floor. “If you think this is bad, wait until we take you to prison.”

 _He’s one of us,_ I realized, and pulled Wales arm down to the floor so he wouldn’t fire the gun. He realized what I was silently informing him and stuffed the gun back into his pocket before we approached the door. He gave me a light nod before he knocked on it, and only then took a step back till he was at my side.

A heavy cloaked man opened the door, dressed in tweed grey from head to toe with leather gloves covered in blood. He grimaced at us with suspicion, clearly exhausted from the beating he had just given to the man on the floor; his head and the entire side of his left body was laying flat on the hardwood floor while he was tied up to a wooden chair with thick rope around his bloody limps. “Detective Lenson,” I uttered in barely a breath, as I cast him a steely gaze. “I can tell you’ve been busy.”

“The nigger’s been telling me lies,” he spat out, as his hand clenched the side of the door aggressively. “I thought I’d teach him a lesson.”

“A lesson of pain,” my partner piped up. “You know this is against protocol.”

“If I get the answers from him, they don’t give a damn how I went about it.” Detective Lenson pointed his bloody finger at us and asked, “Why the hell are you here anyways?”

“I wanted to speak of the manager of this establishment,” I said in a smooth voice, as I tried to contain the anger that was gnawing away at me. “We are looking for his landlord.”

“He’s right there,” Lenson said with shrewd pointing of the finger to the man that was currently sniveling on the floor.

“Thats him?”

“I know… I couldn’t believe it myself.”

“Then we need to speak to him.”

“Not until we’re done.”

“You had your time,” I warned him, before I pushed the door forward. “Now, its our turn.”

“You want me to warm him up a little for you?”

Wales was the first to eye down the two other guards in the room before he landed his venomous gaze on his superior officer, Lenson. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“You got twenty minutes.” Lenson waved his men to follow him, after they dropped their wooden sticks to the floor.

The minute the door was closed I lifted the chair off the floor, while Wales ran to lock the door behind him. “Get him some water,” I entreated, and loosened the rope so the man could at least wriggle his arms off the seat.

My partner was quickly by my side, urging the young man to drink the cold water through his swollen lips. “The bastard,” Wales grumbled, and tore off his white cravat to mop away the blood that was pouring down this man’s face. “I’ll have his head.”

“He’s in a completely different district,” I reminded him. “And you know how they are there.”

“Racist bastards,” he chocked, and threw the matted, blood-soaked cloth on the floor.

“What is your name?” I asked the bruised looking boy who glared at me through a half-closed eye. “Maybe we can help.”

“Charles… Charlie, by my friends.”

“Why did they do this to you?”

“They want the papers of who goes here, but I can’t give him that. We don’t document that stuff…” he coughed lightly and spat out some blood from his mouth. “You know how many important people come here?”

“I can imagine quite a lot.”

“Shit, you know nothing,” he laughed. “We makin’ money here.”

I smiled at him in good humour, glad there was a hint of a toothy grin despite the pain he was in. “So, you are the owner of this place?”

“There is four of us, but I’m the one who actually runs the business. The other three drop by from time to time.”

“I see,” I contemplated aloud, as I rubbed my hand just underneath my chin. “And what do the other three do?”

“Invest and oversee things. Bring in prospective clients-”

“Does any of them go by the name _Lord Baelish?_ ”

His eyes widened at that, and then he scrunched up the side of his face as if he was really in pain. “Why you asking?’

“I’m looking for him.”

“You don’t want to be looking for him, believe me.”

“And why not?”

“Let’s just say… I’m happy that he’s never here.” He swallowed hard, and then tilted his head away from us with uneasiness. “So, can you get me out of here?”

“We’re not part of the homicide division,” my partner interrupted. “We can’t guarantee you anything.”

“You’ll just have to cooperate,” I butted in.

The man drooped his head downwards. “They going to kill me,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just because I’m a few shades darker than them.”

Detective Wales raised his head to look at me, and that one glance told me the man was speaking truth. I sighed grievously and bent down to the man’s level, so I can look him in the eyes. “Look, they are going to take you down to Scotland Yard and once you’re there we will do everything we can to get you out. But for now…” I brought my face right in front of his as I entreated, “Tell us everything you know about him.”

“What do you want to know?” he grumbled, as he closed his eyes wearily.

“Who is this man?”

“Know one really knows. I was introduced to him by a friend. They say he’s sort of an investor, gives grants and stuff.”

“And he did that to you?”

“And my three friends, yeah. His name is apart of the contract because of the amount of money he gave but its by another name-”

“Littlefinger?” I cut in and was pleased when the boy nodded his head. “I met him only once, but it was dark in that alleyway and I could barely see a thing.”

“And your friends? How do they know him?”

“Word of mouth, I guess. I never thought to ask. I was just happy a black man like me could find a job.” He licked his bloody lips before he blurted out, “I work upstairs, you see! Deal with the books and shit. No one needs to know I’m black, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Not with Detective Lenson you will,” I grumbled under my breath.

Wales circled the small office space, lifting up the man’s belongings to give it a good once over while I attracted Charlie’s attention. “So,” I piped up, and tore off my hat so he could see my face clearly. “Where can I find this Lord Baelish?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t even give me a hint?”

“No.”

“If you wanted to contact him then-”

“Oh, he’d be the one contacting.”

“How?”

“He’d send someone.”

“Who?”

“A girl…”

“The same one.”

“No, different each time.”

“Pretty?”

“No,” he mumbled, and darted the one eye to the bloody floor. “I’d say scary.”

“Scary?"

He paused to lift up his head, squinting at me as he asked, “You ever seen a ghost?”

“Not in my line of work.”

“Well, then maybe I should have gotten into your business,” he gibed. “The girls are as pale as the moon-”

“The moon?” I interrupted, and suddenly stood to my feet. “I’ve heard that phrase before…”

“And the way they move… look at you… its like…”

Wales lost interest in the papers that were in his hand to shout out, “Like what?”

“Like they're drawing you in.”

Wales started to laugh hysterically, but I was caught off guard by the haunting look on this young man’s face. _He really believes it,_ I realized, and knelt down enough to not get my clothes smeared with blood before I inquired, “Did you feel that they were?”

“It’s the way they looked at me,” he almost gasped, as if he could see them before him now. “Like…”

The silence stretched on for far too long, and I found myself leaning backwards. It was Wales who drew up a spare chair and placed it right in front of the beaten man in a business-like manner. “Tell us where this man is, Charlie? We believe he might have taken a girl."

“He can have every girl in the establishment, so why would he take someone?”

“Does he?”

“Does he _what?_ ”

“Have the girl’s here?”

“No,” he answered too quickly. “But the rare time he did, I found the girl dead the next morning.”

“And you thought nothing of it?”

“Do you know how often we get a girl dying on us? It was strange though…” he licked his lips absent-mindedly with a minor wince. “She had no marks.”

“And that was unusual?” Detective Wales inquired with a curious expression.

“No strangulation… no marks around her…” he giggled with a dark expression. “Whatever he did to the girl, you don’t see that too often.”

“What did he do to the girl?” I asked him, as I leaned into his frame.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s not like I stayed around long enough to ask him.”

“I wish you did,” I acknowledge with a saddened expression. “It might spare a little girl’s life that we know.”

“Littlefinger is a hard one to find,” he sighed. “I can tell you one thing, but you have to promise to get me out of prison?”

“We can’t make such promises,” I grievously said. “But we can try our best.”

“Best is never good enough, I find,” he murmured with a false smile. “I’ll take a stab in the dark with you two. He’s leaving London and will be sailing out for Ireland.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“I need an exact date.”

“I don’t know,” he relayed with a look of sorrow. “But he never stays here long.”

“How will I find him?” I breathed with my face barely pressed against his own. He smelled like blood, it lingered in the air like a repulsive scent.

“Go out after dark,” he faintly said, before we heard the door swing open behind us.

“Your time is up,” Detective Lenson said with glee.

“Yes, thank you for the reminder,” I stated flatly, while I raised myself to my feet. “We got all we needed to know.”

“So, he cooperates with you, and not with me.”

“I’m sure you will find the whores more cooperative,” I slyly said, and looked in the center of his breeches with meaning. _At least that will keep Lenson and his men occupied,_ I thought, before Wales and I took leave. _God knows fucking is more exciting than beating a helpless man._

“We got to help him,” my partner whispered, after we walked down the hallway in silence. “I hate leaving him with them.”

“There will always be men like Lenson,” I deliberated aloud. “But we must do all we can to help those unfortunates few.”

“So, will you help him?”

“Go to Scotland Yard,” I told him. “Speak to our boss, maybe he can step in before its too late.”

“What about you?”

“I have to find the girl,” I relayed, before I picked up the pace and left him at the top of the staircase.

* * *

The sun was blinding me as I paced back and forth in front of the chestnut tree, it was the only one at the park that managed to attract my attention. _Where did she go,_ I wondered, and patted the firm bark of the tree as if it could yield its sordid secrets. _What did he say to convince her to leave in the middle of the night?_

 _And what did he say to make her so unhappy,_ I wondered, remembering Arya describing her strange mood in the carriage ride home.

“She was sad,” Arya had told me with a dejected look.

 _Something must have happened at the party,_ I deliberated, as I smacked my hand repeatedly on the sturdy tree bark. _Was it something Lord Baelish had said? Something he did to hurt her?_

“She was quiet on the way home and wouldn’t talk to me,” Arya had informed me. “She kept complaining she had a headache and wanted to get home.”

 _Don’t women usually use that complaint when they want some time alone,_ I considered. _Why was it so important for her to be alone? Why would she reject everyone’s company- her own maidservant’s assistance when she went upstairs?_

“She kept running her fingers across her lips,” echoed in the back of my mind with Arya’s voice. I pulled out Sansa’s diary, before I dropped myself to the floor in agony. _Why her lips? Did Lord Baelish kiss her?_ _Has she been kissed there before by him?_ I flipped open the last entry, trying to remember if I recalled such facts. _She wanted him too, so did Lord Baelish finally have his way?_

 _And he came there uninvited,_ I remembered, noting that when I scanned the list Lady Tyrell had drafted me his name was absent. _And yet, he assured Sansa the day before that he would come._

“He was very handsome,” Margaery assured him, after she took a sip of her tea this morning. “He had that boyish good looks, even though he was rather old.”

“How much older?”

“Oh, he could be her father’s age easily,” she had laughed over her cup. “But he _was_ handsome.”

A squirrel running over a tree branch just over my head suddenly claimed my attention. I dropped the peach coloured diary on the floor beside me, and watched the squirrel jump from tree branch to tree branch. _So, it is in my mind,_ I contemplated with a smile. _If only I could find the answers._

The wind blew over the shrivelled brown grass, a flock of pigeons flew overhead and dropped down to the fountain that was seen in the near off distance. The place where I was seated was relatively secluded, shady enough with nearby trees to block off most of the passersby attention. _No wonder she could stay out here for so long,_ I noted, _knowing a woman in her station could never be caught dead staying out here alone._

A chill came over me, as the wind abruptly flew upwards and blew against my rounded face. I squinted my eyes slightly as I popped up my grey collar, hoping to shut out the wind so I wouldn’t catch a cold. I felt lost, and no amount of pondering would change that fact. Helpless, I ignored the gust of breeze and opened her diary to the last entry once more.

* * *

February 13, 1843

I can’t sleep.

It’s the early hours of the morning, and I am most anxious for the sun to rise. On the other side of the room I can see my evening dress glowing in the faint candlelight. I can only imagine his words when he see’s me in it. I hope he will kiss me in it. I hope he will give me that stare that often feels like he is stripping me naked, denuding me completely with small goosebumps prickling my skin. I hope… I fear for so many things.

He promised me he would come.

* * *

Winterfell park was only a ten-minute walk from the front of Lady Sansa’s house, an uncomfortably close distance from the man she secretly met for the last two weeks. Based on her journal entries I gathered their meetings were rather infrequent, dependent upon the weather and Lady Sansa’s only busy schedule.

 _He only comes out when its dark,_ I mused, and felt he was like some kind of wolf or bat, or any other nocturnal creature that comes out at night.

Charles noted the only time he met him in person was at night. “Go out after dark,” were his last words, before Detective Wales and I were unceremoniously dismissed.

Its day still, I took in, as I walked down the cobbled path around the front garden of Lord Stark’s home. The windows were wide open, letting in fresh air for the last time before the wind storms returned for this time of year. There was music blaring throughout the house, Bran’s violin was blowing up a tempest as if he was trying to encapsulate everyone’s mood. I caught young Rickon throwing some stones into a small bird fountain in front of his house, and his mother standing just behind him with a sullen look. I felt foolish coming here, but my feet unaccountably made me wander in this direction.

“Detective,” she said with a soft raise of the hand. “You bring us news?”

“I should like to speak to you and your husband at once.”

“You have found her?”

“No, but I believe I know who she is with?”

She gripped my arm and used her free one to grasp the boy’s hand, so she could lead us to the front door. I felt her trembling beside me like a withering leaf, and when we finally entered her husband’s private quarter she was in a state of alarm.

“Lord Stark,” I prompted, as I stood directly in front of his desk. His wife went around to greet him, slipping her arm through his as she prepared for the news.

“I think you already know your daughter left on her own accord?”

“Yes. My gardener, Jenkins, told me,” he mumbled, as he squished the end of his cigarette into a olive green porcelain bowl. “He told me that the gate was unlocked that morning and thought nothing of it. It wasn’t until he found out that Sansa had gone missing…” Lord Stark huffed with frustration. “He was too cowardice to tell me.”

“She did leave, my Lord, and she had help.” I lifted an item enclosed in clear wrapping and dropped it on the table in front of him. “A cloth! Material is uncommonly stiff, and I detect it is of the highest quality. I found it in your daughter’s room-” a gasp from Lady Stark succeeded, and I had to purse my lips to silence myself for a moment. “Snagged into her windowsill. I believe that is how he got in.”

“He climbed?”

“Quite possibly.”

“And no one saw,” his wife cried. “Heard him?”

“I am afraid not.”

“Not even Bran?”

“He did say he felt that someone was watching him when he was unlocking the door when he came home, so it’s a possibility-”

“That he was there all along,” Lord Stark proposed. He cleared his throat before he bellowed out, “Who was he?”

“Petyr Baelish.” The name alone put his wife into hysterics, sending her face into her husband’s broad shoulder. “She has been seeing him for the past two weeks, and they’ve developed some sort of romantic entanglement.”

“I’ll kill him,” Lord Stark chocked, finally letting his emotions betray him. His wife trembled violently in his arms, and I felt the whole weight of there feelings on my shoulders.

“I’ll bring her back home,” I assured them.

“You better promise me that… on your life.”

“On my life.”

 


	5. Happy Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stark family employe Detective Varys to investigate their daughter’s disappearance. Varys has only one lead, the last entries in Sansa Starks diary that mentions the name Lord Baelish. Who is this mysterious character, and what does he have anything to do with this sweet, young girl who has a mind of her own?

“Excuse me,” I murmured as I pushed through the crowd, trying to get up to the upper wooden deck where a line of boats was docked. Wales was just behind me, his chest pushed right up against me as we forced our way through the throng of passengers waiting to get aboard their ships.

“Please, excuse me,” I said to a tiny old lady with a shaky hand that shuddered when I bumped into her. “Beg my pardon,” I uttered, and pulled down the rim of my cap to assure her. It was so crowded here, and the dwindling light from the sunset made it harder to see clearly. I looked ahead to see the silhouettes of ships rocking back and forth under the restless waves; faint orange light illuminating the sheer white sails of the five boats docked at London’s busiest seaport. The old lady reluctantly let me push her aside, so I could squeeze through the gap to get to the administrative office.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” my partner asked, once we had enough air to breath. “Coming here?”

“It’s the only way to Ireland,” I reminded him. “If Lord Baelish wishes to return home, then this is his best chance.”

We walked across the wooden planks, which acted as a bridge to get us to the other side of the seaport. It was quieter here, since we passed the crowds of passengers that were lined up to get to the Northern parts of France. I rolled my shoulders back and walked in a more relaxed manner, happy to have my friend by my side again. “You think she is here?”

“Who knows,” I sighed, as I mopped the sweat away from my face. “Its been four days since her last appearance, and Lord Baelish could have stolen her away by London by now.”

“Unless they stayed.”

“No, with a prize like that- no man would stay.”

“You think he loved her?” Wales asked me with a concerned look. “To go through all this trouble just to smuggle her away.”

“I think he lusted after her,” I muttered, as I turned my gaze away from my friend. “I think he just couldn’t resist taking Sansa away.”

“And do you think they….” He motioned his hands together in a suggestive manner while he bit the bottom of his lower lip.

“Oh, without a doubt.”

“So, she’s stained.”

“Stained, Wales?”

He bent his head downwards with lowered brows that made him look barely recognizable. “No man will have her after that.”

“No, and the Stark name may go down with her. Poor Ned… he thought keeping his son’s secret was difficult but this…”

“His son?”

“Never mind,” I quickly rapped out. “I think that wooden shed is the place we need to go.” I picked up the pace and shouted out, “Come on, man! Time is of the essence,” before I darted through the crowd again.

There was a line up outside the door, but I pushed my way through and never stopped till I reached the tired looking man who sat in front of the desk. He was old and grey, with long mangled white hair that fell to his shoulders without a care in the world. Eyes that were languid and cold as ice stared up at me after I interrupted his conversation with a passenger, and he reluctantly looked at my badge before he acknowledged my presence. “What do you mean you want to look at my records?” he barked back and slammed his hand over his leather book in front of him. “This is confidential stuff.”

“I am looking for a name,” I explained. “He has committed a crime, and if you don’t let me look at it then you will be indicted for acting against her Majesties service’s. I will only need the book for a few minutes-”

“But I’m using it now,” he complained. He motioned to the long crowd behind me and added, “You wouldn’t have all these people waiting, will you?”

“To save a life, I will.”

“Oh, so it’s a life now?”

“It is,” I stated flatly. “And the longer you argue with me… the more her life is in danger.”

He stood to his feet and ordered the people away; there was a tremendous amount of yelling and cussing, but eventually the long line of people exited the shed.

“Well, that was fun,” Wales sarcastically said, before he sat down at the edge of the desk. “How far back does this book go?”

“Only a week,” the bookkeeper answered him. “It logs all passengers, the pay and the boat they are sailing on. Everything is neat and orderly, for business sakes.”

“For which…” I lifted his heavy book and placed it in the center of my lap. “I am forever indebted to you.”

I drew the pages back until I found the night of Sansa’s disappearance. My hand glided down the pages, noting how long it would take to find Lord Baelish’s name. Wales was leaning against me, actively scanning the pages as well, knowing we hadn’t another moment to lose. “What if he went by another name?”

“Littlefinger?” I asked him, glancing off the page for a second to read his dead-pan expression.

“No, but what if he didn’t write down Lord Baelish?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” I lowered the book slightly, feeling at loss for a moment. “You think he used another one?”

“I’m just saying if he is as clever as you think he is, then wouldn’t he expect an officer to go looking through the official books.”

“Damn, you’re right.”

“You!” Wales called out and flicked his fingers towards his chest to bring the old man forward. “Your name?”

“Danny Hopstead.”

“Mr. Hopstead,” Wales grumbled, clearly aggravated by the bleakness of our situation. “Would you say you would accept cash to keep silent, or change the name if someone asked you?”

“Me?”

“You won’t be charged… we just need to know.”

“You swear it?”

I laughed at the man and yelled out, “Simply asking us to swear it means you’re guilty, my good man.”

Mr. Hopstead looked back and forth between us, huffing and puffing the longer he knew he was done for. “I’m as guilty as the rest of them,” he fumed. “You can’t say I’m the only one.”

“Have you done it within the past four days?”

“No…”

“Hopstead,” I berated, and closed his book suddenly with a loud thud.

“I may accept it here and there. Not a day goes by that I don’t. I understand if you want to slip from the cops, and as long as my hand is filled with some coins I don’t really care. Shouldn’t say that stuff to you of course, but that’s the honest truth.”

Wales rubbed his thick moustache as he uttered, “The truth that can get you in jail.”

“Oh, please don’t! I got to family to look after, and grandchildren. Please, sir, I’ll do anything you want.”

I raised my hand to claim his attention. “Four nights ago, did a man and woman offer you money for silence.”

“I couldn’t say.”

Wales crossed his arms sternly as he faced the corned man. “How about recently?”

“There’s always those sorts running away. The amount of elopements I see.”

“Did she…” I paused to pull out a small portrait buried deep in my coat pocket; it was of Lady Stark, but her daughter so closely resembled her they looked nearly the same. “…look like this?”

He snatched the small painted portrait from my hand, letting the silver chain dangle down his pale wrinkled arm that nearly glowed in the bright candlelight. “God in heaven! I saw her less than an hour ago.”

Wales and I quickly exchanged looks, before I snatched the portrait out of his hand and headed for the door. “Which boat?”

“I don’t know.”

“How many boats are there? Which one is heading to Ireland?”

“Four at least. Two to Dublin, one to Belfast and the Cove of Cork.”

“Wales!” I shouted out and was happy when he buttoned up his long black coat to show he was ready to go. “Take the ones to Dublin. It will be the largest to search, so take your time. I have the other two.”

“You be careful,” the old man warned. “The one to Dublin will be sailing out real soon.”

“Then we haven’t much time,” I panicked, and flung open the door for Wales and I to leave. It was nearly impossible to fight our way through the crowd, and even then, to locate the boats that were sailing for Ireland was a mission in itself. “Yours is on the right,” I told him, after I spoke to one of the guards standing outside of a boat that was sailing for New England. “Apparently, mine is on the other end. They’re smaller, so I should be quick.”

“What do you want me to do if I find them?”

“Don’t approach them! I just need… we need more guards to take Petyr down. He’s evaded us once, but I won’t let it happen again.”

“I’ll meet you here if I find something.”

“So, will I.” He patted me on the shoulder as he wished me good luck, and then my friend was off again to force his way through the crowd to get to the boats that were soon sailing off. “Good luck to you too,” I mumbled, and then headed down the stairs to take me to the lower levels of London’s docking bay.

* * *

I had little success until I spoke to one of the sailors on a boat sailing for Cove, a sturdy old ship that looked like it could brave any storm. The sailor, thankfully, was able to recognize Catelyn Stark’s portrait and directed me to one of the cabins that could potentially be hers.

Now, if I was wise I would have left immediately and contacted Wales, who would in turn contact the right authorities. But a madness had seized me, knowing I was so close to the prize that I couldn’t let this one ago. If I could just speak to her, I repeated to myself, as I walked by the private lodgings on the upper deck of the ship. A guard was accompanying me for most of the way, but once he saw I was comfortable enough to be on my own he left me to return to his duties.

The boat rocked from side to side under my feet, making my hands lay flat on either side of the wall as I walked forward. I felt enclosed, constricted by the small area that I was forced to move through. I felt myself sweating under my heavy winter clothes, despite of the cold air that rushed through this narrow tunnel of a hallway.

_She could be here anywhere,_ I reminded myself, and took my time knocking on every door I passed through to speak to the passengers. “Have you seen this woman?” I repeated to a giddy couple, after I passed the seven’s door down this hall.

It was always a no, or a voice of uncertainty. “Its rather hard not to miss this shade of red,” I would argue back, but every passenger seemed to be consumed with their own selves. I was getting tired, and I knew the hour was late. The last shred of light casted through the occasional window in the passengers’ cabins, and I slowly found myself haunted by the words that young man, Charlie, had warned me about as I neared the approachment of darkness.

A whistle a floor above me warned that this ship was soon set to sail, and I knew my time was quickly coming to an end. _I’m so close,_ I reminded myself, _I can’t get off this ship empty handed._

I knocked on the ninth door of the upper cabin and was relieved to find a beautiful red-headed girl staring back at me. “Sansa,” I breathed, and found my face softening by the moment. _She’s beautiful_ , I admitted, and found myself tongue-tied the longer I looked into her icy blue eyes.

“Do I know you?” she asked with some hesitation, already keeping her foot behind the door to prevent me from breaking through.

“No, but I know you,” I softly replied. “Your family is looking for you.” Her fingers tightened against the edge of the door, barring her nails into the tarnished wood as she considered the words I relayed. “They are very worried about you, Sansa,” I hushed, and took a smaller step into her space. “They all are.”

“Tell them I fine,” she replied with some resolution. “They have nothing to fear.”

“Then shouldn’t you be telling them yourself.”

“No,” she exclaimed, and I was shocked to see the fire behind her eyes. “They will only want me back.”

I blinked slowly, unsure how I was supposed to approach so delicate a matter.

“How did you find me?”

“I’m a detective,” I told her with a shadow of a smile.

“A detective,” she murmured with a look of scrutiny. “You didn’t have to come looking for me. I’m fine on my own.”

“I believe you.”

“And- and I’m well taken care of. I’m happy.”

“I’m pleased.” She began to shudder as though she was sick, and I was surprised to find her crumpling into her own form. “Sansa?” I coaxed and laid my gloved hand over her arm to steady her back to her feet. “Are you alright?”

“I feel ill,” she complained, and laid her lily-white hand over her brow. “I need some air.”

“Then let me open your window,” I suggested, and stepped into her room to open the small circular window on the other side. I was displeased to see the sea was covered in darkness, with only a hovering shade of red on the far distant horizon. _Darkness,_ I thought, and felt myself tightening with terror.

“Oh,” she breathed, and stuck her face in front of the window to feel the breeze. “This is better.”

She was far enough away for me to notice her sheer black dressing gown, far more revealing than I would have expected from a girl her age. She was pale too, deathly pale with only her bright coppery hair to contrast the lifelessness of her skin. Her feet were bare as she padded across the hardwood floor to draw herself closer to the window; the cold wind did not seem to bother her, as it did for me.

“Why did you run away?” I asked her in the faint streams of the dwindling sunlight. “Did you really love him?”

“Petyr,” she said with her back towards me.

“Petyr,” I repeated, and pulled off my hat to make myself more approachable. Sansa remained in front of the window, not bothering to answer my question immediately. The silkiness of her night gown blew in the wind softly, billowing in the breeze in an effortless manner along with her hair that lifted off her bare shoulders. “I have never met anyone like him,” she began, as she turned her head towards me. “And I probably never will again.”

“What did he say to you at the party that made you run away?”

“He was heading back to Ireland.” She licked her lips absent-mindedly before she concluded, “He wanted me to go with him.”

“And you were sad, so you did.”

“I did.”

Her hands slid off the window pane, and I was enamoured by the certain look in her eye once she payed me her full attention. There was something not right though, a thing that made my shoulders roll backwards defensively. “You should return home, Sansa.”

“Petyr is my home,” she echoed, like a wind tunneling through every space in this tightly contained room.

“Your family wants you to come home.”

“I have no family,” she stated woodenly. “And even if I could…”

“They are all waiting for you. Your father, mother, Bran, Rickon, Jon and Arya.”

“Arya,” she repeated with a certain lifelessness. “I could never go back, even if I wanted too.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve _seen_ things.” I blinked at her with confusion, hardly aware of her approaching steps towards me. “ _Felt_ things.”

“Like what?”

“Burning desire,” she uttered with her tongue grazing the front set of her teeth. “Like red hot blood running through flesh.”

“We’ve all been in love, Sansa. You are not the first, nor the last to feel it.”

“I wasn’t speaking of love,” she murmured, and circled herself around me to my surprise.

“Then what were you speaking about.”

She dragged her hands along the front part of her chest, while her eyes fixated on mine. “Oh, to feel,” she moaned, as she drew herself closer. I found my top teeth biting down on my lip, piercing my skin with a desire I was unaware of. “To feel,” she moaned out longer, and positioned herself right in front of me so I could see the revealing breasts that hung loosely under her sheer dress. I was caught like a fly in a web, unable to move when she drew her arms around my form and pulled her chest right upon mine. “I know you feel it too,” she taunted right into my ear, with her lips barely grazing my flesh.

“Sansa,” I chocked, and cleared my throat to check myself. “Your family _wants_ you home.”

“In all that time you were with them, did they ever tell you what I _want?_ ”

“For you to be happy.”

She laughed low and deep, as if the sound was coming from the back of her throat. Sansa’s fingers danced up my back as she continued to laugh, and I was caught off guard when she finally set her lips onto mine. I frantically pushed her back, slamming the back of my head against a wooden plank that held up the thin white sheets that covered the sides of her bed. I rubbed the back of my head incessantly, trying to fight off the dizziness that was quickly coming over me. Sansa watched me with an eerie gaze, never truly blinking even when I tried to move around the room.

_I should leave,_ I thought, feeling goosebumps prickle my skin the longer she looked at me. There was a sort of hunger in her eyes, a darkness that could hardly be contained. “I will tell them that you’re happy,” I assured her, as I rounded myself around the room like some sort of terrified prey. “And that you are pleased with your decision.”

“Oh, believe me I am,” she purred, as she followed my careful footsteps. “More than you will ever know.”

“Good,” I whimpered, while I still rubbed the back of my head. Her stare was so unnerving I dropped my hat to the floor, and as I bent to pick it up I heard a lock chink behind me. I froze in my spot, before I looked up to see Sansa was still in front of me with a heated gaze. Ever so slowly I turned around, forgetting the thing that was in my hand when I saw a handsome face peak out from the crack of the door.

“We have a visitor,” he drawled in a smooth silky voice, like a finely tuned instrument. I felt my blood run cold as he looked at me, never leaving my visage like his partner behind me. “Sansa,” he hushed like the bitterly cold wind rushing through the small cabin. “Tell us, who has come?”

“He’s a detective,” she said coldly. A faint smile graced her lips as she turned her head to her partner. “He was sent by father I’m guessing.”

“Tell them,” Lord Baelish uttered, as he slipped through the door like a looming shadow. “That Sansa is perfectly well.”

I cleared my throat with deliberation, noticing how close the two of them were. “I will tell them immediately.”

“Tell me,” he said in a hoarse voice, as he snaked himself around me. “How did you find us?”

“I’m a detective, _Lord Baelish,_ and fortunately for me you left some clues.”

“Such a shame. I must try harder next time. Though…” he positioned himself next to Sansa, and I noticed how equal in height they were by their blackened silhouettes. “I am quite happy with the woman I have here.”

“I can tell,” I said through gritted teeth, suddenly feeling impassioned again by the scoundrel.

“She is a rare one,” he noted, while he lifted her chin in the air to face his own. “A beauty beyond imagination. A thousand lifetimes and I would have never met someone so well matched to me.”

“You have a way with words, Lord Baelish. No wonder Sansa took a liking to you.”

He wore an awful smug as though he was well pleased with himself. He then turned to the woman in his arms and endowed her with a passionate kiss, the kind that made me back away to the door feeling uncomfortable by their lustful movements as Lord Baelish barred his teeth and tongue into her faintly pink lips. _I need to get out of here,_ I reminded myself, and stretched out my hand behind me to fondle for the doorknob.

Lord Baelish hands were dead set between the woman’s thighs, making her hoarse and moan loudly right in front of me. I shuddered at the overindulgent sight, mortified by the way this man conducted himself in front of me. She was whimpering his name, barring her nails into his fine winter coat as she went up and down for him. I pursed my lips, trying to find the doorknob as best as I could, and when my fingers finally wrapped around it I let out a sigh of relief. The doorknob chinked the second I turned it to the right, and that made the couple abruptly stop and turn their gaze towards me. “I didn’t,” I stuttered out. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“No,” Sansa murmured, as she steadily fell down from her high. “You weren’t.”

“Okay,” I feebly replied, and found my arm shaking as I held onto the doorknob.

Lord Baelish licked his lips wantonly as he instructed, “Come and stay with us a little longer.”

“I can tell your busy,” I quickly answered him, and this time turned my entire body to the door to open it.

Loud footsteps thumped against the floor and the next thing I knew a strong hand pushed the door back into place. I whimpered like a child as his face hovered over me, angry at the fact that he locked the door without even having to take a glance. “Stay,” he droned, and hardly made a face when Sansa snickered behind him. “We want your company.”

“I think-”

“He’s so funny,” Sansa shrilled. “He’s such a funny man!”

The two of them began to laugh madly, a thing that made me blow out a stream of air from my half-opened mouth. _I was a fool to come here._

“I like him,” Sansa gleefully said, and went beside her partner to look at me. “Look at his big shiny head.”

Lord Baelish wiped his hand across my bald scalp with a mischievous look in his eyes. “He looks almost _delicious,_ ” he murmured in a deep, sonorous voice.

“There is so much meat on him,” she countered, and prodded at my shoulder with a single finger. I shuddered at the devious look in their eyes, noticing the way their darkened figures blocked out the last of the sunlight.

Lord Baelish suddenly stepped aside and let Sansa approach me. She wrapped her hands around the back of my neck, weaving her fingers along the back of my head where I had been hit earlier. She giggled darkly, while her eyes gazed over my entire figure. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you,” she assured me, while her her lips hovered over mine. She took a kiss from me, a soft one that left me in terror as I glared at the man behind her. His face for some reason was covered in a shadow, only the red trimmings of red could be seen from the inside flaps of his coat.

“Sansa, please,” I begged, and applied pressure to her arms to let me go. “I don’t want this! I don’t want _you._ ”

“You don’t want me,” she simpered, and I felt the error in my words.

“Your father-”

“My father gets in the way of everything,” she grumbled. “Petyr… he lets me do whatever I want.”

“Sansa,” I wheezed, before she took a deeper kiss against my lips. If she wasn’t so beautiful I wouldn’t have submitted, but in time I felt my lips were quickly fighting back with hers. Her hands were snaking around, pulling me in like a red-tailed boa constrictor; pressing her small body against my own until we both crashed against the doorframe. I closed my eyes, hating the moan that escaped me as she continued this dangerous venture. “That’s it,” she whispered, after she pulled her lips away. “You’re starting to feel it too?”

I blinked at her tiredly, feeling myself slipping away from reality when she casted herself over me like a dangerous shadow. “Feel what?” I breathed, as I felt the weight of her lips over mine.

The shadow intensified suddenly, and only then was I aware of Lord Baelish’s body just behind her. “Desire,” he answered me in a low tenor, and immediately I felt a sheering pain at my neck as something pierced into the side of my skin. I chocked back in horror, feeling like a dagger had slit the thin skin of my throat. I started to fall backwards, Sansa straddled me with her entire weight until I crashed down on the floor with my head banging hard against the wooden floor. My head fell to the side, and I heard a distant growl like a wild animal let loose in the room before the numbing feeling returned to my throat. “Drink,” urged the man behind her, a faint shadow that reflected harrowing red eyes. “Drink until you have your fill,” and with that I found myself slipping away into a void of darkness.


	6. The Beginning of Something New

**Epilogue**

I was startled by the reflection ahead of me; skin as pale as a corpse stared back at me with dim blue eyes. I heaved a great sigh at my reflection, hating the man I had become in so short a time. I winced when a pain shot up through my right arm; the bullet had been removed, and yet, the hot aching feeling still lingered even after all of these years. I blinked slowly back at the looking glass, taking in the heap of nothingness that was dressed from head to toe in black. There were people walking around me, maneuvering their way into the better part of the funeral home where Detective Varys closed casket was kept. _They say his skin was as white as a ghost,_ I remembered, _and the water made his flesh expand and slowly decompose by the time they found him._

They found him by the shore side, poor thing, laying face first in a band of crumbled rocks just under a bridge. _The police were lucky to find them when they did,_ I mused, _remembering how quickly the newspapers ran with the story of a missing detective days after he took on a case of the missing child, Sansa Stark._

“She’s not a child,” Detective Wales angrily said to me once, after he read the morning news. “She’s a _monster._ ”

_She’s no monster,_ I thought, _there are far worse demons out there._

_The worse ones are in my head._

I felt a presence beside me, and absent-mindedly turned my head to the short man next to me with a faint grimace. “What are you looking at?” he asked me and leaned forward to see the shadow of a looking glass over the neat little table in front of me. “Why do they always have to have lilies at a funeral?”

“Do they?” I asked, as I eyed the pale white lilies sitting in a stony grey vase right next to the looking glass.

He grunted, and fiercely rubbed his moustache to show his displeasure at the whole thing. “What happened to him?” he grumbled after a long, weary-like sigh. “We were supposed to meet up on the pier, not go…”

“Something must have happened,” I reminded him in a gentle tone of voice. “You know how cautious Varys always was.”

“Yeah,” he lied, and offered me a faint grin. “That’s Varys for you.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Wales.”

He crossed his arms regrettably, letting his eyes linger over the small group of people that stood in front of the wooden casket in silence.

“You’re angry,” I observed, after the silence stretched out for far too long.

“I just want to know what happened,” he quickly spat out. “I want to know the bastard that killed him.”

“The same one who took Lady Sansa.”

“Yeah, well, he is lucky I’m too busy tied up with a case to find him.” He pouted for a moment, while he eyed his own reflection in the mirror. “My boss won’t let me go.”

“I told you to get out of that industry.”

“What? And be like you,” he laughed, before he turned his gaze to my side profile. “We all know how you turned out, _Mormont._ ”

I tilted my head to the side, finding no need to look at our reflections further. I eyed Detective Wales carefully, knowing what he was implying, but fighting the urge not to hit him where he stood.

“It looks like things went from bad to worse for you,” he mockingly shot out, though there was a hint of regret once he spotted the change in my visage. “I am sorry, you know.”

“Why did you ask me here?” I questioned him, finally growing weary of this man’s presence.

“Because you knew Varys.”

“Yes, but why did you send me a personal invitation?” I urged and positioned my body to stand right in front of him, thankful for my towering height.

“I thought you could help the family.”

“The Starks?” I asked, as I turned my gaze to the Lord of Winterfell on the far side of the room. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not,” he exclaimed, as he brushed his fingers back and forth through the small morsel of hair he had left. “I think you can help.”

“I don’t work for Scotland Yard anymore,” I reminded him.

“And that’s exactly why you would be a good fit. Think of it, Mormont, a hefty fee that will pull you out of the slums you are currently living in.” He leaned forward, so he could speak in a softer tone of voice. “They say the Lord of Winterfell is going after his daughter-”

“And you want _me_ to go with him,” I interjected.

“I think you should,” he reasoned with a certain level of perseverance. “I know them slightly, and if you want I can introduce you to them.”

I waved my good hand at him as I took a step back. “No,” I answered him, and gave Wales a brooding look to show I meant every word of it.

I was almost out of ear-shot when he called out, “I heard you’ve been living alone for the past few months!” I turned my head in his direction, wondering how much he had learned of my private life- the very things I wanted to keep hidden. “It must be lonely. No wife, no child…”

“I make do,” I scoffed, before I turned away from him again.

“But you can do better!” he shouted, much too loud for the half-silent funeral home. I turned to him with a look of pure venom, but he rebutted with a few more words: “Your wife left you. You have no job, no income, no life… what is there to lose, Mormont?”

_Nothing._ I stopped in my tracks, a deep sigh escaped my half-closed lips before I bent my head down in defeat. I heard my old co-worker walk up behind me, and it wasn’t until he stood beside me that I finally looked up to face him. “Will you go?”

“Where are we going?”

“To the last lead Varys had… Ireland.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Far From Home 2
> 
> When Detective Varys dies on the job, Lord Stark takes matters into his own hands and has hired a group of skilled men to track his daughter down. What he doesn't know is the secrets of the men he keeps around him, and the darkest one of all once he lands on the shores of the Irish coast, where his daughter has been hiding all along.
> 
> P.S. I hope to regularly update this in time for Halloween, so feel free to hit subscribe on my username so you get updates for the sequel of "Far from Home"


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